


Memoirs: The Illium Years

by Sharrukin



Series: Memoirs of Liara T'Soni [2]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Adventure, Complete, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Romance, Science Fiction, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-01-13 01:49:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 60
Words: 243,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1208338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharrukin/pseuds/Sharrukin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Shepard is killed, Liara is left alone. She knows the galaxy is in danger, but what can one former archaeologist do against the threat of the Reapers? Maybe nothing, but Shepard's lover has learned not to give up too easily. Science fiction, adventure, intrigue, and a dash of romance.</p><p>Revised and polished version of a novel originally published to FanFiction.net. Standard disclaimers apply.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Starlight and Ice

**_10 September 2578, T’Soni Lineage Estates, Armali/Thessia_ **

An asari matron sat alone at her desk, ignoring the golden sunlight that streamed through her windows in the middle of the day.

An observer would have found her unexceptional in appearance: of average height for her people, slender, fit from centuries of very active life. She wore a simple two-piece ensemble in white and blue, bodysuit and jacket, almost like a scientist’s or physician’s uniform. Her face showed no unusual marks, other than a spray of dark freckles across her cheeks and a matched pair of thin arcs over her eyes. She habitually looked at the world with calm appraisal, her thoughts concealed behind a cool blue-eyed stare.

At that moment she sat almost motionless, only her eyes flickering, her fingertips moving slightly. All her attention was given to the holographic display before her, light shining in her face as she rapidly paged through documents, flash-reading thousands of words per minute.

Footsteps, in the hall outside . . .

The matron blinked and turned away, the holographic display obligingly freezing in place the moment her attention shifted. When a second asari appeared in the doorway, she rose from her desk with sudden enthusiasm.

“Aspasia!”

“Hello, _patēr,”_ said the newcomer.

The matron held her visitor out at arm’s length, examining her closely. She saw a shorter asari, petite but wiry and strong, with cobalt-blue eyes and a dusting of white dapples across her face. The two asari bore a clear family resemblance, although the younger boasted a stronger jaw that suggested considerable determination. She wore silver and black, civilian clothes cut to suggest a military uniform.

“You’re looking well. I didn’t know you were on leave.”

“The squadron is in dock for a few days for refit and resupply,” said the younger asari. “Then it’s off on patrol in the wild spaces again. I decided to surprise you and _mata._ ”

“Unfortunately, your mother isn’t here. Business on the Citadel. I expect her back tomorrow.”

“That’s all right. I don’t have to be back on board for two more days after that.”

“How are things in the Navy?”

“Everyone is a little on edge, _patēr,”_ Aspasia said quietly. _“They_ have been seen again.”

The matron dropped her hands, staring at the other asari with wide eyes. “The Reapers?”

“Never close to any inhabited world, never more than two or three together. They move through the most remote segments of the relay network, almost as if they are searching for something.” Aspasia shrugged. “They haven’t _done_ anything. Well, aside from looming out of the darkness and frightening the life out of a few independent merchant captains.”

“I’ve heard nothing of this,” said the matron calmly.

“It hasn’t been widely advertised. Can you imagine the panic?”

“Yes.” The matron turned away, moved to sit on a nearby couch and invite her visitor to join her. “With everything else that has been happening, I suppose the galaxy doesn’t need yet another cause for fear.  I wish I knew what _they_ were thinking. I’m afraid I may need to come out of retirement again.”

Aspasia snorted. “That would be, what, the third time?”

“One of the advantages of an asari lifespan.” The matron shook her head ruefully. “You’ll discover that soon enough, once you’re a matron.”

“I hope not. I have a _lot_ to do before the nesting urge sets in.” Aspasia smiled suddenly. “It’s very good to see you again, _patēr._ I’ve missed you and _mata_ both.”

“She’ll be glad to see you as well.”

“Of course, it’s just as well she’s not here yet.” The younger asari’s eyes acquired a wicked glimmer. “This way, I have time to give you my critique of your memoirs.”

The matron’s eyes widened in surprise. “What do you know about those?”

 _“Mata_ sent me a copy of your draft thus far. I think she wanted a different perspective.”

“Hmm. I really wasn’t ready for anyone else to read it yet. I suppose another pair of eyes wouldn’t hurt. What do you think so far?”

“It’s a wonderful story. That was certainly a different time, back when you were a maiden and no one had ever heard of you. I loved reading the parts about Shepard . . .”

The matron cocked her head in amusement. “Aspasia, you are many things, but a romantic is _not_ one of them.”

“Things change, _patēr._ There are many humans in the Navy. Let’s say that reading about your affair with Shepard has given me . . . a better appreciation for them.”

“All these years, I was _sure_ you would take after your mother and fall in love with another asari.”

Aspasia only grinned.

“Well, good for you. When we founded the Navy and made it a joint service, one of the things we intended was to give asari maidens more opportunity to experience what the other species have to offer. Especially humans. Do you have one in particular in mind?”

“Maybe.” Aspasia’s smile became contemplative. “I don’t think I’m quite ready to talk about that just yet.”

“You remind me of your namesake. One of _her_ great loves was a human too.”

“Tell me about it,” Aspasia invited.

The matron frowned.

“If I’m not mistaken, when you left off in your draft, it was just before you went to Illium and set up as an information broker for the first time. You’ve never told Nerylla or me very much about that period in your life.”

“It wasn’t an easy time,” said the matron, rather grimly. “Although I suppose it did have its share of joy and triumph, in the end.”

“You’re going to have to put it in your memoirs eventually. Consider this practice.”

“All right.”

The matron took a deep breath, her gaze growing distant as she sifted through her memories.

She began: “Five days . . .”  


* * *

**_3 July 2183, Amada System Space_ **

Five days.

Five days since the destruction of _Normandy_ at the hands of some unknown enemy. Five days since most of us scrambled into escape pods and fled.

Five days since Shepard was declared dead.

For the hundredth time, I cursed Captain Mukherjee of the _Melbourne_.

To be sure, he and his crew diligently picked up all of our escape pods. Yet he expended no effort to search for Shepard. He was too careful of being caught by a gang of Terminus pirates . . . or by whatever force had destroyed _Normandy_ in the first place. He proved far too quick to declare our missing crewmen dead and flee for the safety of Alliance space.

As a result, Shepard was left abandoned for five days.

Drifting alone in space, Shepard might have survived for three days. Even four, if he could keep his physical activity to an absolute minimum. His hardsuit could have sustained him that long. It almost certainly could _not_ have sustained him for five days.

Of course, if his hardsuit was damaged in the final destruction of _Normandy_ , or if he was pushed onto a trajectory down into Alchera’s atmosphere, then he might not have survived for even an hour.

Every objective fact told me that Shepard was dead.

I ignored the objective facts. I ignored the terror of having my life turned upside down. I ignored the anguish and grief that tied my gut into knots and made me want to break down in tears.

If I started weeping, I suspected I might not be able to stop. That would be _unacceptable_. I had too much work to do.

My eyes remained dry. My face set like stone. My hands moved across the control board in front of me with assured competence, and they did not shake.

 _Themis_ dropped out of FTL about five thousand kilometers above the surface of Alchera.

“We’re here,” I told my passenger.

Garrus Vakarian stepped into the cockpit and settled into the copilot’s seat, looking out the viewport at the planet below us. “Pretty bleak place.”

I opened a new window and examined passive-sensor readings. “It’s a _failed core_. Might have formed as a gas giant if things had gone differently, but it didn’t gather enough mass. It’s composed of ices and volatile compounds, with a small core of rock and metals. The atmosphere is mostly ammonia and methane. Very cold and dry.”

“What brought _Normandy_ here?”

“It was the next stop on the patrol route Shepard and I worked out, that’s all.” I sighed and rubbed my eyes. I might have banished grief but I couldn’t exile fatigue. “There is a statistical spike in missing ships in this region of space, something that we couldn’t attribute to pirates or slavers. We were looking for geth holdouts . . . or for some evidence of the Reapers.”

“Do you think you found something?”

“It was more a case of something finding us.” I shuddered at the memory. “Only a few minutes after we arrived, we found ourselves under attack. A single ship, very large, like an oversized cruiser. No one on the bridge recognized it. It saw right through our stealth systems and hit us with its first barrage. Some kind of energy weapon, not a mass accelerator, not a laser, not like any technology I ever saw before. It carved _Normandy_ into pieces like a knife. We never had a chance.”

“Spirits,” he swore. “Not the geth, then.”

“Not unless they’ve developed a lot of new technologies all at once. There’s a new player at the table, and I would be willing to bet they are allied with the Reapers.”

“Not taking that bet. Well, now that we’re here, what’s the next step?”

“We scan the surface. Any large mass of metal is probably the wreck of _Normandy_. We look there for life signs, for anything that might tell us what happened to Shepard.”

Garrus turned his predator’s gaze on me. “Liara . . . you know he has to be gone, right?”

“I know.” I turned and tapped at the controls, inserting us into a high-inclination orbit around the planet. “It’s my fault, Garrus.”

“I don’t believe that!”

“It’s true.” My eyes lost focus for a moment, and I dropped my hands into my lap. “He ordered me to help others into the escape pods, to get myself to safety, while he went to rescue Joker. I should have disobeyed him. I should have stayed with him. I might have been able to save him from being thrown clear of the ship.”

The turian’s face wasn’t capable of much expression, but his stare was eloquent. “You obeyed his orders. You’re not to blame for that, or for bad luck.”

I blinked and set my jaw, raising my eyes and hands back to the controls. “I disagree.”

He shook his head in dismay, but turned silently to the copilot’s board, ready to assist.

* * *

I had moved as quickly as I could, knowing that if Shepard still lived, he might have very little time.

 _Melbourne_ carried me from the Omega Nebula to Eden Prime. From there I insisted on making my own way home, as a foreign national not under Alliance orders. Captain Mukherjee tried to refuse, wanting to take me to his home port at Terra Nova with the rest of _Normandy_ ’s crew. I made a scene, all but threatened to cause a diplomatic incident. Eventually he let me go. I managed about two hours of sleep on Eden Prime, and then caught a passenger ship heading for the Citadel.

In popular entertainment I have seen several versions of what happened next. The most common story is that I returned to the Omega Nebula several weeks later, aboard a batarian smuggler’s vessel. It’s true that after my search for Shepard ended, such a vessel _did_ turn up drifting near Omega. A salvage crew found the batarian owner and his turian crew dead, battered and broken as if they had been in a fight on their own command deck. No one ever identified the assailant. Somehow this incident became conflated with my visit. I can attest that by the time the derelict _Sharn-Adar_ appeared at Omega, I was already long gone.

Instead, at the Citadel I purchased a personal starship.

 _Themis_ was a ten-year-old military cutter of asari manufacture. Originally built for defense of a colony world, it was later refitted as a deep-space scout, and then excessed during a financial crisis. It was fast and agile, with a very good sensor suite, a pair of small mass accelerator cannon, and even some stealth technology to reduce its EM signature. It could carry a crew of four, but one person could conn it easily enough. It was cramped and uncomfortable, not anyone’s idea of a personal yacht . . . but it would serve for someone planning to travel alone into the Terminus Systems.

Acquiring a military vessel for personal use, even a small one, presented something of a challenge. Especially if one needed to do it _quickly_. I called on the resources I inherited from my mother, moved many millions of credits, and began to slice through red tape.

I might have known that Garrus would notice.

He was on the Citadel when I arrived, once again working as a detective for C-Sec while waiting for the outcome of his application to the Spectres. I didn’t contact him directly, but the speed with which I was moving set off warning signals within C-Sec databases. He came to find me, already aware that some disaster had befallen _Normandy_. When I explained my mission, he helped me avoid C-Sec interference, and insisted on coming along. I was glad to have him. A familiar face was a comfort, and I knew he was fearsomely competent.

Even spending money like water, even with Garrus running interference, even after a call to Councilor Tevos, the process of buying and taking possession of _Themis_ took almost forty-eight hours. I barely had time to eat or sleep. I could feel Shepard’s clock running down the whole time.

One hour after _Themis_ was mine, Garrus and I were on our way back to the Omega Nebula.

* * *

Sure enough, our active sensors showed masses of metal scattered across several kilometers of ice in Alchera’s northern hemisphere. Close scans revealed the ice in that region to be reasonably stable. _Themis_ could easily land close to the site.

I made a single overhead pass before seeking out a convenient landing site. One glance out the viewports told us we were in the right place. A hull section lay in the open with the ship’s name still visible.

 _Normandy_.

“So, what do you need me to do?” asked Garrus as we put on our hardsuits and prepared to step out onto the surface.

“We will be building a map of the site,” I explained. “We need to scan each section of the wreckage, note its exact position and orientation, tag it according to its original position in the intact ship, and send our results to the _Themis_ VI. If you see any small items of interest – human remains, unique pieces of equipment, anything of that nature – then scan and tag those as well. Don’t touch or move anything. Think of it as field archeology.”

“Or the initial examination of a crime scene,” he observed.

I glanced at him. “I’ve never thought of it that way, but I suppose you’re right. This will be closer to your field of expertise than mine. Most of the _crime scenes_ I’ve examined have been thousands of years old.”

He nodded, pleased.

“Garrus.” I reached out and touched the turian’s arm. “I know I haven’t said this before, but _thank you_ for coming with me. I’m very glad you’re here.”

“You’re welcome,” he said quietly. “I’ll gladly do anything for Shepard . . . or for you.”

We stepped out through the airlock, onto the frozen surface of Alchera. The wreck of the _Normandy_ spread out in front of us. We got to work.

I found it a strangely beautiful place. There had been a fall of ammonia snow since _Normandy_ ’s arrival, so the surface mostly shone silver and white, looking very pure in the starlight. The atmosphere was still and clear. It was night, but the three moons provided plenty of light. Countless stars shone down as well, and the arc of the galaxy stood high overhead. Even the twisted and shattered sections of _Normandy_ seemed to acquire dignity and peace in that setting.

Garrus moved to one side, toward the crew deck and the engineering compartment. I took the other direction, toward the cockpit and the command deck, where Shepard had last been seen.

It was painstaking work, a careful and detached examination of objects. I felt myself falling into familiar habits of thought: cataloguing, tagging, gathering raw data with no attempt at interpretation. It helped. I could keep my composure when I came across certain things: a datapad that had belonged to Charles Pressley; a holograph of Helen Lowe’s two children; a horribly damaged and incomplete set of human remains.

It took me almost two hours to become suspicious.

It was nothing obvious. My archaeologist’s eye simply began to see signs that something wasn’t quite right.

The path into the cockpit seemed surprisingly clear of debris. A workstation chair had fallen over, trapping a drift of ammonia snow between it and the deck plating, suggesting it had been upset some time _after_ the crash. A set of high-capacity batteries sat on the deck close to the defunct galaxy map, bearing markings of a manufacturer that did not supply the Alliance military. A set of human remains still wore a uniform, but the pockets of the uniform had been sliced open with a sharp-edged instrument, and I found no sign of the dead crewman’s ID or credit chit.

When Garrus finally called me, I knew immediately what he was thinking.

“Liara, can we get together for a moment? There’s something strange going on here.”

I stood up, stretching to ease the stiffness in my back. “I agree. I’ll meet you by the Mako.”

Garrus leaned against the side of the (miraculously intact) landing vehicle as I approached. Even through the faceplate of his helmet, I could see that something bothered him. I could always see something about his predator’s eyes, some extra glimmer of focus, when he was angry or intent.

“Liara, I think someone else has been here,” he said. “Possibly several people.”

I nodded slowly. “I think I agree. They did a good job eradicating some of the signs of their presence, but I’m seeing too many objects that have been moved or tampered with.”

He looked around, then shook his head in frustration. “I need a better view.”

Suddenly he clambered up on top of the Mako. When he reached the top, he knelt and held out a hand to assist me in climbing up beside him. We both scanned the whole site visually.

“That’s it,” he said finally. “Look how the snow has drifted. It’s not went-to-east like you would expect from the prevailing winds in this area.”

I saw it. “Right. It’s as if all of the snow drifts outward from a spot close to the center of the site.”

“Thruster exhaust, from a shuttle hovering at low altitude?”

“I don’t have a better guess,” I told him. “Someone tried to cover their tracks. Possibly literally: boot-prints in the snow, signs of objects being dragged around, who knows what else?”

“What were they after?” he wondered.

“It couldn’t have been simple salvage. They left behind a lot of valuable equipment.”

“The engine core is still mostly intact too. You’d think scavengers would want to recover the eezo.”

I shook my head. “No point in speculating. Let’s stick to our original plan, but keep an eye out for any other evidence as to who was here, and what they wanted.”

“Okay. I got a good scan of most of the aft sections of the ship. Do you think we have enough for your computer model yet?”

“Let’s find out.”

I connected to the _Themis_ VI and finished uploading the data I had collected. After a few moments of number-crunching, the VI returned its results.

“Based on the way the pieces we can see came to rest, and based on what little Joker saw of Shepard’s trajectory when he was blown clear of the ship . . . there’s a ninety-five percent chance that he came down somewhere in _that_ direction.” I pointed almost due south, past the ruins of the Combat Information Center, not far from where a lone escape pod had come to rest.

“Let’s go,” said Garrus.

We found a long flat shelf of ice, stretching out away from the nearest wreckage to a deep crevasse about a kilometer away. At first it looked barren and empty, but then my eyes caught hints of structure under the snow. I started walking a slow transect away from the wreckage, carefully scanning the ground with my omni-tool. Garrus trusted his eyes more, skimming more quickly over the ice and snow, drawn to the crevasse itself.

Suddenly, under a thin layer of snow, I found traces of foreign material. Metals, ceramics, glass.

I looked and saw telltale irregularities in the snow cover. I fell to my knees, all thought of careful procedure cast aside, and dug frantically in the snow with both hands.

“ _Garrus!_ ”

Armor. The right boot. The left greave. Both gloves tossed aside in a heap.

The chest plate, with the _N7_ insignia on it.

Shepard’s armor. Empty.

Garrus pelted to a stop in front of me, scattering a spray of ammonia snow. “What is it?”

“I found his armor.” I glanced around us in all directions, looking desperately for more. I could hear my voice spiraling upward into panic. “Just his armor, Garrus. Where is he? _Where’s Shepard?_ ”

“Liara!” Turian hands on my shoulders, pulling me to my feet, holding me steady. Turian eyes staring into mine, trying to project calm and assurance.

“He’s not here,” I wailed. “This is the armor he had on when the ship was attacked. So _where is he?_ ”

“Obviously someone took it off of him,” Garrus said grimly.

I felt a shock. “They came here for his _body?_ ”

“Yeah. And I think I know who. Come on.”

Shaking my head and fighting for self-control, I followed Garrus across the ice. He led me to one of the nearest branches of the great crevasse, a smaller crack in the ice, almost narrow enough to jump across.

“I wanted to see if any of _Normandy_ ’s wreckage had fallen down in this crack,” Garrus explained. “I scanned for metals and magnetic anomalies. That led me to my friend here.”

I looked down into the crack. It was dark down there, but I could see a bipedal figure, wearing armor, lying very still on a ledge about four meters down. “That’s not one of the _Normandy_ crew.”

“No.” He held his omni-tool out and activated the hand-light function.

It was a batarian, wearing armor colored in blue and white, an abstract sigil of nested ellipses on his chest. He had fallen into the crack. His head rested at a very odd angle, suggesting a broken neck.

“Blue Suns,” I said flatly.

“There’s your body-snatchers,” Garrus agreed.

I clenched my right fist, tight enough to feel the blood pulsing in my fingers. Blue light flared around my shoulders, down my right arm, around my fist, as I called up my biotics. As gently as I could, I took hold of the dead batarian with my mind and lifted him up to the surface. He rose out of the crack, shifted to the side, and fell to the ice at our feet.

Garrus bent to examine the body. “The suit’s still operational on battery power,” he reported. “It’s still warm in there. Decomposition has barely started. Forensics isn’t my best field, but I’d say this fellow hasn’t been dead more than a day.”

“They don’t have much of a head start, then. Assuming we can figure out where they would take Shepard’s body in the first place.”

Garrus stood, closed his omni-tool, and lashed out with a booted foot to shove the dead batarian back into his icy grave. “I think we can guess. The same place every piece of corruption and rottenness in this part of the galaxy ends up.”

I nodded. “ _Omega_.”

* * *

Back in FTL, _Themis_ flew toward the Sahrabarik system.

At that time I had no contacts of my own on Omega, but the place had no shortage of informants for hire. Working over the extranet, I sent messages to a few carefully selected data drops. I asked for details on any unusual Blue Suns salvage operations, any sightings of Alliance equipment or personnel in unusual circumstances, any sightings of Shepard himself.

Finally, I left the VI on autopilot and went to sleep in my tiny cabin.

When I awoke six hours later, groggy and light-headed, I found a short encrypted message in my inbox.

_I may have information for you. Meet with me in Afterlife. Come alone or not at all._

_Feron Therion_

I had a lead. I suspected Garrus wouldn’t be happy about the conditions.


	2. Omega

**_5 July 2183, Omega_ **

It’s strange how the popular vids portray planetoid fields. Whenever a scene takes place in such a region of space, the audience is shown a vast array of rocks hanging almost motionless in space, dozens or even hundreds visible at once. Such a thing is simply impossible. Everything in space is always in motion, and subject to the gravitational attraction of everything else. A field of stones that dense would be in a constant state of grinding collision. No such configuration could be stable, and even if it were it would be no place to safely travel or build.

Real planetoid fields are widely dispersed. A typical belt might contain hundreds of thousands of bodies of significant size – but these spread across an _immense_ volume of space. From the surface of any normal planetoid, one would be quite fortunate to be able to see even _one_ other such object in the sky. Collisions do happen but are extremely rare.

Of course, an inhabited planetoid must protect itself even against the rare disasters. For centuries the lords of Omega enforced very strict rules of navigation clearance. No planetoid of significant size was permitted within a million kilometers. Anyone who wished to try his luck at prospecting among the other objects in the system would have to do it at a safe distance.

Omega flew alone in the darkness. A dense cluster of towers reached out from the remains of the original stony asteroid, lit only by the distant sun, the stars, and a single ring of dull red artificial light.

“I hate this place,” said Garrus as we entered our final approach.

“You’ve been here before?”

“Once or twice, on C-Sec business,” he said harshly. “It’s a shithole. Pirates, slavers, smugglers, drug runners, con artists, thieves, murderers . . . they all seem to end up on Omega sooner or later. Along with half the galaxy’s castoffs and rejects, so the scum have someone to victimize.”

“ _The war of all against all_ ,” I quoted.

“Hmm?”

“Something Shepard quoted to me once. From a human political philosopher, describing a state of anarchy.”

“I see. Well, Omega isn’t _quite_ anarchy. The mercenary gangs manage to keep some semblance of order, although they fight among themselves like a bucket of _cancris_. Then of course there’s Aria.”

“Hopefully we won’t come to _her_ notice,” I murmured.

“Don’t count on it. Not much happens on Omega without her knowledge.”

* * *

 _Themis_ docked. We locked the little ship down behind us and stepped out into Omega, dressed for the occasion: battle dress for both of us, my favorite M-4 Shuriken at my hip, my combat knife in an obvious boot sheath, Garrus positively bristling with weapons.

“So how are you going to recognize this contact of yours?” he asked quietly.

“ _Feron Therion_ is almost certainly a drell name,” I told him. “I doubt I will have any trouble finding a drell in Afterlife.”

“True, there aren’t many drell on Omega,” he agreed. “Not many drell _anywhere_ outside hanar space.”

We paused, across the street from the main entrance into Afterlife. “Garrus, I need you to wait out here.”

He looked mutinous. “I can’t let you go in there alone.”

“You have to. Feron specified that he wanted to meet me alone. If he sees you he’ll bolt.”

“All right. I’ll watch from out there. Signal me if there’s any trouble.”

“Of course.” I opened my omni-tool and set up a channel to his hardsuit computer. “Be careful.”

“Well, running into Aria T’Loak’s palace with guns blazing is a _really_ bad idea, but I’ll do it if you need me.”

I gave him a small smile. “I’m sure you can be more subtle than that.”

Alone, I strode across the street toward the entrance to Afterlife. I concentrated on my body language: head high, back straight, stride confident, hand near a weapon, eyes looking neither left nor right.

_I am Liara T’Soni. I am not a bookish little scientist. I am a power. Hinder me at your peril._

I did such a good job that I almost convinced myself. It certainly worked on everyone around me. The beings waiting for entrance stared as I passed. The elcor bouncer glanced at me and decided at once that I wasn’t meat for the queue. The batarian doorman took my credit chit, deducted an amount that would have staggered me before I inherited Benezia’s fortune, and then waved me through.

I stepped into Afterlife.

It reminded me of Chora’s Den on the Citadel, which I had visited once before a chunk of _Sovereign_ obliterated the place. Aria T’Loak operated on a grander scale, of course: more bars, more tables for guests, more private rooms to the side, more asari dancers on the stage, more lurid red light, and more painfully loud music. I stopped in the entryway and did a slow scan. No drell presented themselves, but I did see a number of nooks and corners where someone could watch from the shadows.

I decided to make myself visible and wait. I walked over to the nearest bar and seated myself on the stool farthest to the right, where I could watch most of the room and no one could easily approach me by stealth.

“What’ll ya have?” asked the turian bartender.

I considered for a moment. “Scotch whiskey, neat.”

The turian didn’t remark on my choice, simply produced a tumbler half full of amber liquid. From Shepard’s memories I was already familiar with the drink, but the strong taste still came as a pleasant shock. I savored it as it went down smoothly. It reminded me of him, for a moment almost too much to bear.

I checked my omni-tool for the date and time. Exactly seven days before we had been in his bed together, our hearts slowing after a vigorous bout of lovemaking, laughing together over a shared memory. Soldier and scientist, with our friends we had defeated _Sovereign_ and saved a trillion lives. We thought there was nothing we couldn’t do, so long as we were together.

How naïve we had been. Monsters lurked in the galaxy’s dark corners, more terrible than anything we had seen during our fight against Saren.

For the hundredth time, I wondered: _who destroyed **Normandy**?_

Then another question came to me, one I had not considered before.

_Who knew to go in search of Shepard’s body so quickly?_

The Blue Suns were only pawns. A powerful mercenary gang, to be sure, feared and respected in many parts of the galaxy. Yet when they operated on their own, their schemes tended to the unimaginative. Looting _Normandy_ ’s drive core for its eezo might have been within their scope. Recovering Shepard’s body _and nothing else_ was not like them at all.

Unless they had been specifically paid for the job.

The speed of their action also seemed suspicious. I built a timeline in my head. Call the moment of _Normandy_ ’s destruction Time Zero. The Alliance had not announced Shepard’s apparent death to the galaxy at large until about two and a half days after Zero. If the Blue Suns had left Omega immediately at that point, they could have reached Alchera by just under four days after Zero. That _would_ match the time of death Garrus had estimated for the Blue Suns soldier we found in a crevasse near the wreckage. Yet that left almost no time for the mercenaries to _organize_ their expedition: receive instructions from their unknown patron, gather men, gather equipment, load everything onto a ship and depart.

The mercenaries’ mysterious patron must have moved very quickly. Either that or he had known about Shepard’s fate before the rest of the galaxy learned about it.

Possibly he had _caused_ what happened.

I felt a moment’s angry excitement.

_This isn’t just a quest for Shepard’s remains. I might be on the trail of the monsters themselves._

“Dr. T’Soni?”

I blinked, jolted out of introspection. Someone new had approached the bar, and now sat three places down from me: a slender figure, wearing a long jacket with a hood. His clothes concealed most of his body, but inside the hood I could see a scaly, reptilian face and pitch-black eyes. A drell.

I set my empty tumbler down on the bar. “Are you . . .”

“Not here,” said the drell. “Outside.”

He rose and walked away, leaving me to settle my bar tab and follow.

We emerged from the front entrance of Afterlife. The drell turned right and led me down the shabby street into a run-down industrial area. I didn’t see Garrus anywhere, but I knew he would follow us at a careful distance.

“It’s not safe, asking a lot of questions on Omega,” said the drell, glancing from side to side as if looking for something. “The information you asked for wasn’t easy to find, not even for me.”

“Where are we going?” I asked.

The drell ignored me, simply leading the way further into the industrial zone. Suddenly he whirled, grabbed me by the shoulders, and pulled me with him as he ducked into a very dark alley between two abandoned factories.

He was strong, but with a flare of telekinetic force I was stronger. I broke free of his grasp and prepared to defend myself, but then I saw he was paying me no attention. Instead, he held up a hand and peered back out onto the quiet street we had just left. After a moment I let my biotics relax and waited quietly.

“Sorry, Doctor,” he eventually said. “We were being followed, but I think we’ve lost them for the moment.”

 _He must have sensed Garrus_.

“I’ve had enough of being led around. Do you know anything about Commander Shepard?”

His black eyes held mine, and he nodded reluctantly. “That’s right. I’m Feron Therion . . . and yes, I know where Shepard is. But you won’t like what I have to tell you.”

“He’s dead?”

“That’s how I would bet. His body has been recovered, and the Blue Suns are keeping it here on Omega in some kind of stasis pod. If he’s not dead, then he might as well be.” I couldn’t read a drell face very well, but he _sounded_ sympathetic. “I know you came a long way. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

I couldn’t hold his gaze. It was all I could do to keep my voice steady. “I need to see for myself, Feron.”

“Doctor . . . you’re not the only one interested in finding Shepard.” He made a pleading gesture. “I’ve heard about you, heard you were close to the Commander. I’m sorry for your loss. But maybe you should let the dead rest. Go home and get on with your life.”

“I can get on with my life later,” I said angrily. “Right now, _I need to see Shepard_.”

Feron shrugged. “It’s your money. Your life.”

He led me back through the alley where we had taken refuge, then through a maze of narrow streets in the industrial district. We saw almost no one along the way, and I wondered why the area hadn’t been taken over by one of Omega’s many gangs.

 _I hope Garrus can trail us through this_.

I got almost no warning. I heard a sound, like a metal panel falling over, and then armored figures surged out into the street all around us. I felt someone grab me from behind, and smelled the rank scent of unwashed male human.

“ _Blue Suns!_ ” shouted Feron, drawing his sidearm, but they had already surrounded us.

I seized the arm of the human who had taken hold of me, and hurled him over my head and across the street in a flare of blue-white light. “Feron, look out!”

Another human in blue-and-white armor tackled Feron from behind, throwing him to the deck.

My biotics surged, a halo of electrical discharge flaring around my shoulders and upper arms.

“Hold it, asari,” said a deep voice from directly behind me. A krogan in Blue Suns armor held a heavy pistol to my head. “Keep those biotics in check. You so much as flinch, I’ll smash your pretty skull.”

I relaxed, let my biotics fade away. Two more Blue Suns gangsters, a human male and female, came forward to seize my arms and hold me motionless.

The krogan appeared to be in charge. He lowered his sidearm, came around to my front, and peered at me. “You came all the way to Omega looking for a dead man, asari. The Shadow Broker wants to know why.”

 _The Shadow Broker?_ _What does he . . . or she, or it, or they . . . have to do with Shepard?_

I decided to play for time. I knew something even Feron didn’t know. “My interest in Commander Shepard is my own affair, krogan. Not that of some barbarian mercenary. Certainly not that of some distant information broker.”

“Everything is the Shadow Broker’s business, asari, but especially this. Shepard’s a hot commodity.”

_Garrus should be taking action right about . . ._

“Now _talk_ , before I decide to –”

The krogan’s head exploded.

 _. . . now_.

I shouted a high-pitched war-cry. From nothing at all, my biotics surged to maximum potential. The two mercenaries holding my arms had already relaxed slightly, in shock at their leader’s sudden demise. My telekinetic blast hurled them both away, flying head over heels.

“ _Sniper!_ ” shouted one of the other gangsters, reaching for the rifle slung on his back.

I gestured viciously, flinging a bolt of biotic force, and the mercenary holding Feron fell away with a shattered neck. “Feron, move!”

We ran. I heard more sounds of battle behind us, a rattle of assault rifle fire and the deep repeated _boom_ of a sniper rifle. Garrus was taking on the whole Blue Suns squad by himself, and from the sound of it he was winning.

Feron led us further into the industrial district, keeping to the shadows.

“Which way?” I demanded.

“Just _away_ ,” he answered, panting with effort. “Maybe through here . . .”

A bright light suddenly shone in our faces, blinding both of us. We stopped short, Feron almost stumbling and falling in his surprise.

“Or maybe not,” he said quietly.

Two armored figures stood before us, both male humans in battle dress carrying weapons. They weren’t Blue Suns. Their armor shone in silver and white, and on each left breast I saw a stylized insignia, a narrow hexagon in gold and black. An insignia I recognized.

“ _Cerberus_ ,” I hissed. “Feron . . .”

“No need for alarm, Doctor T’Soni,” said a new voice.

A third human stepped out into the alley where we confronted the Cerberus troopers. A woman: tall, athletic, with an extraordinary figure displayed to good advantage in a form-hugging white bodysuit. Her hair fell long and black with reddish highlights, and her eyes gleamed an icy blue. I thought her quite beautiful, if not for the expression of cold arrogance on her face.

“Operative Lawson,” I greeted her.

She gave me a sharp nod.

Feron blinked. “You _know_ these people?”

I felt the corner of my mouth twitch in ironic amusement. “Not precisely. We have exchanged information in the past. Also gunfire.”

“It’s a long way from Binthu, Doctor,” said Lawson. “Circumstances have changed. Today we’re both working toward the same goal: _finding Commander Shepard_.”

“Shepard is dead,” I told her.

“That’s what they say . . . but Shepard has beaten the odds before, as you well know. If we can recover Shepard’s body, there’s a chance we may be able to bring him back.”

My eyes widened in shock. “What are you saying?”

“My principal can explain. If you’re willing to follow us.”

I exchanged a glance with Feron. He must have sensed my surprise and excitement, because he reluctantly nodded.

* * *

I stood in the center of a darkened space, my feet encircled by a thin line of light. Holo-cameras took a moment to scan my contours and prepare my image for transmission.

Then I saw a room of stone and glass, almost empty, looking out on a vast dying sun. A chair sat in the center of the room, surrounded by holographic display panels. A human sat in the chair, male, in his robust middle age, wearing an expensive and stylish suit. A lit cigarette dangled from the fingers of one hand. His eyes glowed an unnatural blue.

“Doctor T’Soni. It’s good to see you again,” said the Illusive Man.

“I wish I could say the same,” I told him. “I do appreciate the information you shared with us while we were fighting Saren . . . but I still have a difficult time trusting Cerberus.”

“As a scientist, you should be willing to put aside personal prejudice in order to seek out the truth. I’ve kept my word to you and Shepard. We didn’t interfere with your war against Saren and _Sovereign_ , and we helped you when we could. Even though, as I recall, you attacked Cerberus first.”

“I suppose that’s true. So what is your interest in Shepard?”

The Illusive Man drew on his cigarette, the lit end flaring like a tiny star. “Shepard is unique, one of the greatest examples of our species. He’s a symbol for all humanity. Dead or alive, we want him back in human hands.”

“I don’t understand what you would want with a corpse. But Operative Lawson suggested that you might be able to . . . heal him.”

“It’s possible. The technology we’ve developed offers some hope. There are no guarantees, but I’m willing to commit a great many resources to the attempt.”

_Goddess. To see Shepard, to speak to him, to hold him in my arms again . . ._

_At the cost of giving him up to Cerberus?_

“But that’s not the most important consideration,” he continued. “What is important is that the Shadow Broker wants Shepard too. He sent those mercenaries to stop you.”

“What does the Shadow Broker have to do with any of this?” I demanded.

Smoke coiled up from the Illusive Man’s hand. “It’s hard to say. In many ways the Shadow Broker is my dark reflection in the intelligence business. We both work from a careful distance, like chess players manipulating pieces on a board, white against black. I don’t have very much insight into his motives, and I trust he has no insight into mine. What I do know is that he’s made a deal with the devil. Or more precisely, _devils_. The Collectors.”

I gasped. “The Collectors? You told us their activities had increased in the Terminus Systems since Saren began his campaign. What would _they_ want with Shepard’s body?”

“That’s what I want you to find out. No one knows where the Collectors come from or what they want. Even though there’s no proof, I know we both suspect they must work for the real enemy: the Reapers. If they _are_ interested in Shepard, their reasons can’t be good. Cerberus would want Shepard’s remains in any event, but it is _vital_ that the Collectors _not_ get them. Which is why we need you.”

“Why me? You have all these resources, Operative Lawson and her people. Surely you don’t need one asari scientist.”

“You’re a good deal more than a simple asari scientist, Doctor.” He used his cigarette again, letting the smoke roll slowly out over his lips. “It’s difficult for me to contend directly with the Shadow Broker out in the Terminus Systems. While Miranda certainly has her role to play, I appreciate the value of an ally driven by personal motives. You were very close to Commander Shepard. I respect your capabilities. I want you on our team. Can we count on you?”

I remembered a conversation Shepard and I once had, sitting in his cabin late at night.

 _Maybe the Illusive Man was right,_ Shepard had said. _Who am I to say that my moral principles are more important than all those lives? What if I’m faced with the choice to cooperate with Cerberus, or let all those people die horribly?_

 _Then you cooperate with Cerberus,_ I had told him.

And if they could _bring him back_ . . .

I had barely begun to mourn him, to learn how to face the rest of my life without him. To suddenly have hope again, no matter how unlikely, was almost more than I could endure.

_Goddess, damn Cerberus for tempting me so._

“No,” I told him at last. “But _Shepard_ can.”

The Illusive Man smiled slightly, tapping his ashes into a tray on the arm of his chair. “Good. That’s all I ask.”


	3. Pursuit

**_5 July 2183, Omega_ **

Miranda Lawson’s aircar settled onto the main street, not far from Afterlife. The canopy and doors popped open with a small _chirp_ , and Feron and I climbed out. Miranda followed us.

“Shepard’s remains are still here somewhere,” said the Cerberus operative. “If the body had left Omega, I would know. The Blue Suns haven’t made their final handoff to the Shadow Broker’s agent yet, which means we still have a chance.”

“The Blue Suns could have holdings all over Omega,” I pointed out. “Do you have any information that could narrow things down?”

She glanced at Feron. “Your friend is familiar with the station. I imagine he has a few facts to throw at the problem.”

Feron looked slightly uncomfortable. As well he might.

Miranda handed me a datapad. “Recover Shepard’s body and bring it to _this_ location. Cerberus will cover your expenses, and I promise you we’ll do everything in our power to revive him. Good luck.”

I tucked the datapad into a pocket of my armor as Miranda climbed back into her car, closed the canopy, and soared off into the acrid Omega atmosphere.

Feron made a growling sound as he watched the aircar depart. “That woman’s a bigger fool than I imagined if she thinks I’d help Cerberus. Besides, you saw what happened the last time I tried to lead you anywhere. What do they think I can give you?”

“Quite a lot, I should think,” I said quietly. “After all, they know that you’re an agent of the Shadow Broker.”

“What?”

I seized the front of his jacket with one hand, and let the leash on my biotics slip free. My upper body suddenly flared with a nimbus of blue light as I lifted him off the deck and slammed him against the nearest wall. He struggled, tried to break free, but I had a firm grasp on him with more than just one hand.

I had once pulled a thousand tons of metal and ceramic down on a platoon of geth, using nothing but my mind. One surprised drell wasn’t going _anywhere_ unless I willed it. I ignored stares from the pedestrians all around us. I ignored the raw terror in Feron’s face.

“It was very damned convenient that my contact on Omega chose to lead me out of Afterlife, into the industrial district, and directly into a Blue Suns ambush,” I told him, very quietly. _“You sold me out.”_

For a moment, I could see him considering a lie. Then the reality of his situation asserted itself. “I didn’t sell you out,” he said, as calmly as he could manage. “I’m not the Shadow Broker’s _agent_. I take odd assignments from him now and then. He pays for eyes and ears everywhere. The money’s good.”

“Did he pay you well enough to get me killed?”

“No. The Shadow Broker knew that Shepard’s friends would be searching. All he wanted me to do was lead you in the wrong direction. Simple, safe, I don’t get my hands dirty and no one gets hurt.”

“No one told the Blue Suns who threatened to shoot me!”

“No one told _me_ about them either. I don’t know why the Broker sent them.” He squirmed a little, glancing over my shoulder. “Maybe . . . maybe they were just insurance. Maybe the Broker is more nervous than I thought about getting to Shepard’s body first.”

Nothing suggested he was lying. I eased back on my biotics, let my corona fade away, and released the drell to stand on his own feet. “The Broker had _better_ be nervous, if he’s dealing with the Collectors. Did you know about _that?_ _”_

Feron brushed at his jacket, took a deep breath. “Rumors. Nothing solid. The Collectors are nasty customers.”

“Trouble, Liara?” said a flanging voice from behind me.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” I turned and glanced at Garrus, who seemed no worse for wear. “I’m sorry we ran and left you to deal with those Blue Suns.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “The day a pack of Omega mercenaries gets the better of me is the day I hang up my guns for good. Who’s your friend?”

“This is my _contact_ _,_ Feron.”

The drell watched Garrus nervously. “Didn’t know you had backup, Doctor. I wondered who dealt with that krogan.”

“Good thing I did,” said the turian, projecting just a little menace.

Feron shrugged and looked down at the deck. “Well, if you have help, maybe you’d be better off doing this on your own.”

I shook my head and planted an index finger on his chest. “Oh no. I paid you to help me find Shepard, and whether it’s my money or Miranda’s, you’re going to do it. Do you know where the Blue Suns are keeping him?”

He hesitated, and then nodded. “I can’t be absolutely sure, but they have control of a big sector of the lower levels, part of an old eezo processing facility. None of the other gangs have been able to get close for a long time. It’s an ideal place to smuggle things on and off the station, things you don’t want anyone else to see.”

“How do you suggest _we_ get close?” asked Garrus.

A slow smile spread across Feron’s face. “It happens I know a way.”

* * *

Somewhat to my surprise, Feron’s word was good. The path he chose involved leaving the station briefly aboard his ship, the _Plain Dealer_ , a tiny cargo vessel set up for one-man operation. With three of us on board we barely had room to breathe.

Fortunately we didn’t have far to go. The oldest layers of Omega, closest to the hollowed-out planetoid, resembled a labyrinth. Some compartments stood almost completely blocked off from the main body of the station; the quickest way to gain access was to approach from space. Feron deftly piloted the _Plain Dealer_ into an empty bay. Then we disembarked and he led us on foot, taking an indirect route into spaces occupied by the Blue Suns.

“Not bad,” said Garrus grudgingly. “You certainly know Omega.”

Feron nodded as we moved out into a dark loft, looking down into a well-lit bay. We saw the Blue Suns present in force, at least two squads in the cavernous space. The mercenaries seemed very much at ease: smoking, doing weapons maintenance, a few of them even playing cards.

A large coffin-like object drew my eye, resting on the deck, watched over by two tough-looking turians. It looked like a standard biomedical stasis pod, but more elaborate and more heavily armored against damage. A bank of blue and amber lights indicated normal function.

Some _daimon_ told me that Shepard’s body rested in that device.

“Looks like we even got here first,” Feron observed. “Smooth and easy. Now all we have to do is figure out how to get that pod away from the Blue Suns.”

“Wait!” I whispered harshly.

At the front of the bay, stars shone through a large open port. A kinetic barrier flared between atmosphere and space. A ship glided into the bay, a sleek cutter shaped like a long, narrow wedge, with no visible exterior markings or designation.

All three of us hunched down to observe, behind some crates and abandoned machinery.

The new ship settled into a landing. After a few moments, its cargo hatch opened and a gangway extended to the deck. Four beings emerged, wearing heavy combat armor in crimson and black. Three of them were male humans. The fourth appeared to be their leader: the tallest, bulkiest salarian I had ever seen, carrying a _grenade launcher_ as his primary weapon.

The Blue Suns leader ambled over, another krogan who somehow managed to look _small_ standing next to the salarian. We couldn’t hear their conversation.

“Damn!” Feron spat. “Did I say this was going to be easy? Forget it. That’s Tazzik.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Taz is the Shadow Broker’s best agent, a troubleshooter and occasional hit man. The Shadow Broker calls on him when he wants _results_ _,_ and Taz always comes through.”

Tazzik and the krogan walked over to the coffin-device in the middle of the bay, finally close enough for us to hear their talk.

“Identification looks right,” said the gigantic salarian. “Is this everything you found?”

“Yeah,” rumbled the krogan. “Surprised to find even that much. Human body must be able to take some real punishment.”

“I’ve known some that couldn’t.” Tazzik produced a datapad. “Your credits are here. If this isn’t legit, I’ll be back for them, and _you_ will go in the box.”

“That’s it,” said Garrus excitedly. “That must be Shepard. Come on, we’ve got to get down there.”

“Wait! It’s too risky,” said Feron. “There’s got to be another way.”

I clenched a fist and called up a blue halo around it for emphasis. “There’s no time to waste, and I’m _not_ giving you time to decide to sell us out again.”

Feron looked around desperately, and then pointed. “There. See those defense guns?”

Garrus and I looked. Above us and off to the right, I saw an old weapons emplacement. It didn’t look as if it had been used in years, but it commanded the floor of the bay below us.

“I think they’re still functional,” said Feron. “One shot can disable Tazzik’s ship before he can leave.”

“Do it.” I glanced down into the bay. “They’re starting to move Shepard. Garrus, we need to get closer.”

Four of the Blue Suns strained to lift Shepard’s stasis pod and move it over to the ship, struggling so much with the weight that they attracted everyone’s attention. Garrus and I took the opportunity to glide down a staircase and through the shadows at the back of the bay. A loud _crash_ covered our final approach, followed by angry cursing as we slipped into position behind a stack of crates.

“No!” shouted Tazzik. “Put it down!”

“What’s the problem?” asked the krogan. “Not like Shepard’s going to get even _more_ damaged.”

Garrus drew his sniper rifle and began to sight down on the krogan. I called up my biotics again and selected my first targets, the Shadow Broker’s men who moved to attach gravitic lifts to the stasis pod.

“No, but _you_ might,” said Tazzik menacingly. “Just leave it alone. I’ll take it from here. I don’t have time to waste on your blundering.”

I caught Garrus’s eye. He nodded. We prepared to leap into action.

A cannon shot boomed, missing Tazzik’s ship high by about a meter and slamming into the crates only a few meters from our position. The concussion knocked Garrus knocked off his feet. I stumbled and lost my concentration.

Blue Suns troops fired at the weapons emplacement Feron must have used.

Tazzik shouted, “Get the body into the ship now!”

I leaped out of concealment and hurled a bolt of telekinetic force at the krogan, knocking him off his feet and several meters back. “Nobody move! That cargo is _mine!_ ”

“ _Now_ what?” wondered Tazzik in an exasperated voice.

I fought for my life, alone in the midst of the Blue Suns.

A year before, the situation might have been hopeless . . . but since then I had fought on a score of battlefields. Shepard himself had taught me how to solve desperate tactical problems. Ashley Williams had helped train my physique, and had taught me the skills to survive vicious hand-to-hand combat. Kaidan Alenko and Urdnot Wrex had helped hone my biotics. I still wasn’t up to the standard of an experienced asari commando, but I could certainly deal with a pack of surprised mercenaries.

My sidearm barked and cut down a Blue Suns rifleman before he could bring his weapon to bear. I flash-stepped aside from a shotgun blast, charged forward, and shattered the gunman’s skull with a biotically enhanced high kick. My other arm lashed out, the fingers of my left hand clawed, and another mercenary’s head suddenly twisted until his neck-bones _crunched._

I kept the Blue Suns off balance, slowly pressing forward to where Shepard’s stasis pod lay.

Then my allies recovered and charged into the battle. Garrus brought his sniper rifle to bear, firing quickly but deliberately, a Blue Sun going down with each shot. Feron jumped down from the loft where we had hidden, firing at the mercenaries with his own sidearm.

“Now I remember why I like to work alone,” complained Tazzik, withdrawing into the gangway of his ship. _“Screw ‘em all!”_

He fired a high-explosive grenade into the midst of our combat.

Feron sprinted across the floor and tackled me around the waist. _“Get down!”_

I slammed down my best biotic barrier, just as the world exploded in a roar of red noise.

I must have lost consciousness for a moment. When I could see again, I found myself lying on the deck in the midst of a shambles. Dead and dying Blue Suns lay all around. A groaning weight sprawled across my legs, a drell body pinning me to the deck.

Tazzik’s ship rose into the air, heading for the landing port.

Shepard’s stasis pod had vanished.

A jolt of terror forced me to move. “Damn it, Feron, get _off_. I’ve got to find Shepard.”

Somehow I rose to my feet, staggered across the deck after Tazzik’s ship. Too late. It flew through the kinetic barrier and disappeared.

“Shepard,” I called plaintively, bending over and resting my hands on my knees while I caught my breath.

_Goddess, he’s gone._

I heard noises behind me: the distinctive sound of Garrus’s boots on the deck, a curse as Feron picked himself up off the floor.

I stood. Turned. Began to walk toward Feron.

Blue light began to shine on the deck and the dead mercenaries all around me. _Bright_ blue light.

Garrus must have seen something in my face. He rushed to intercept me, just a few paces short of Feron. “Liara, no!”

I stopped, breathing hard, my hands twisted into claws. “How could you be so _incompetent_ , Feron? You let Tazzik get away, _with Shepard!_ You’re _still_ working for the Shadow Broker, aren’t you?”

“I never stopped working for him, as far as he knows,” said Feron desperately. “But I didn’t do that on purpose! The damned gun misfired while I was still bringing it to bear!”

“It’s probably true, Liara,” said Garrus. “It’s an old gun, and it doesn’t look well-maintained. The control circuits probably malfunctioned when he tried to activate it.”

I could feel my lips peeling away from my teeth in a snarl. I made a sound of incoherent fury and let my corona fade away.

“Doctor . . . Liara.” Feron stood up and tried not to flinch away from me. “I _don’t_ want Shepard’s body going to the Collectors. This is complicated, but you can trust me on that point. Now you can blast me, or we can go for my ship and get after Taz.”

“What good will that do?”

“He must be taking the body to one of the Shadow Broker’s facilities. That’s where the handoff to the Collectors will take place. If we hurry we might be able to interfere.”

“All right.” I made a decision. “Garrus, I have a favor to ask. It won’t be easy.”

“Name it,” said the turian.

“I don’t trust this _nothos_ as far as I can throw him.”

“I don’t know, Liara. You could probably throw him a long way. Might be fun to watch.”

“Not the _point_ , Garrus.” I sighed, feeling the last of my rage waver and go out. “Feron and I are going to go after Taz aboard the _Plain Dealer_. With luck we might be able to follow him before he hits any of the mass relays. I want you to get to _Themis_ and come after us. By the time you get to our dock you’ll probably be hours behind, but come as fast as you can. I need more guns on my side, and someone I can trust behind them.”

“You got it.” Garrus turned to Feron and looked predatory. “As for you . . . stab Liara in the back again and I don’t care how far you try to run, I _will_ find you. Do we understand each other?”

Feron took a deep breath and nodded. “We all want the same thing here, Vakarian.”

“Funny, it sure hasn’t looked that way so far.” With that, Garrus turned and left us.

“Come on, Liara,” said Feron. “We have to hurry.”

He started across the deck, pausing only for a moment to recover a datapad from the dead Blue Suns krogan.

 _The Shadow Broker’s money,_ I realized.

I snorted in disgust and followed him.


	4. The Broker

**_6 July 2183, Shadow Broker Facility/Alingon_ **

Feron may have been a poor shot, but he had superb piloting skills, and his little ship was much faster than it looked. By the time Tazzik took the Omega-2 Relay for the Hourglass Nebula cluster, we were less than an hour behind him, well positioned to see which relay he selected. We followed him through and Feron immediately set a course for the Faryar system.

“The Shadow Broker only has one major facility in this cluster, as far as I know,” he explained. “It’s on Alingon. If I coax the engines we might be able to beat Tazzik there by an hour or so.”

We spent a very tense day in flight. Feron seemed to be in good spirits, and tried several times to engage me in light conversation, but I could tell he felt wary of me. For my part, I mistrusted the drell and refused to let him out of my sight.

The cramped quarters aboard the _Plain Dealer_ didn’t help. A single small cabin and one acceleration chair in the cockpit made up the ship’s entire habitable space. We got in each other’s way constantly. I ended up sleeping on a cot that took up the entire floor of the ship’s tiny galley.

Alingon is a barren world, remarkable for its extremely powerful magnetic field. Charged particles from its primary star get caught in the field, creating a dense blanket of interference for EM communications and sensors. At that time the Shadow Broker used this environment to provide his facility with a great deal of natural security. Any outsider who didn’t know it was there would never be able to find it. On the other hand, ships moving in the magnetosphere could easily go undetected, which meant we could get very close without being spotted.

Feron landed in a narrow valley a kilometer or so from the facility, and we approached on foot.

“How are you planning to get us in?” I asked as we made our way across the stony surface.

“I picked this approach deliberately,” he said. “Give me your sidearm, and let me do the talking.”

I glared mistrustfully at him for a moment, and then obeyed.

We cycled through an airlock, and found two turian guards waiting to meet us. “Morning, gentlemen,” said Feron. “I’ve got a delivery. Someone the Shadow Broker wants to see.”

“Hey, Feron,” said one of the turians, lowering his rifle. “Good to see you . . . but you’re not on our list for today.”

“Well, obviously not. Since when does the Broker tell you everything that’s on _his_ list?”

The other turian looked confused. “Sure, but we’re supposed to know everyone who’s coming. The list . . .”

“The list. The list! If your list was _his_ list, you’d be the Broker. Are you the Broker, Delwian?”

“No, of course not, but –”

“Didn’t think so,” said Feron amiably. “How about you, Joppa? Are _you_ the Broker?”

The first turian grunted. “No. What business are you running today, Feron?”

Feron leered and poked Joppa in the side with an elbow. “Well, it obviously involves shapely asari escorts. Maybe I can find one for you on my next run?”

“Hey, I’d like that.”

Feron took me by the shoulder and guided me away from the guards, down a corridor. “Good to see you guys.”

“You didn’t ask him to bring back a girl for me,” said Delwian rather plaintively as we moved away.

“Quit your bitching,” growled Joppa.

I waited until we had passed out of earshot, then took my sidearm back from Feron while giving him a disapproving glare. “That was rather impressive. You’re an accomplished liar.”

Feron shrugged. “Perimeter security is pretty loose here. Besides, Del and Joppa aren’t the sharpest nails in the jar. I’ve smooth-talked my way around them before.”

“Is all of the Shadow Broker’s network this easy to penetrate?”

“Not at all.” Feron frowned. “Although I _have_ noticed a blind spot or two in his thinking. He relies too much on concealment and technical security, and doesn’t watch his employees as closely as he should. He’s got a reputation for brutality if you displease him, but first he has to _notice_ you haven’t lived up to his requirements. That gives people like me some room to maneuver.”

Suddenly we heard voices. Feron and I ducked into shadows and watched, as two figures moved across a junction in the corridors up ahead.

The first looked short and tubby. A volus. “The agent has reported in . . . The package will arrive . . . on the north dock shortly . . . I assure you . . . it is just as described.”

The second figure seemed a thing out of nightmare: over two meters tall, roughly bipedal with two major arms in the expected places, a row of smaller secondary limbs arrayed down each side. It had ridges and plates of chitinous armor. It had a horribly alien head, a broad, flat, wedge-shaped structure with four glowing yellow eyes. I saw no sign of a mouth, or any organs of respiration. It spoke with a very deep and resonant voice, which seemed to come from nowhere, possibly from an implanted translator or some other device.

“The package must be as we specified,” it said. “You know that we do not brook dishonesty or delay.”

_Goddess. Is that a Collector?_

I moved to follow it, but Feron reached out a hand to stop me.

“Wait, Liara. We can’t just charge in blind. You heard what they said – there’s still time. We need to find out _why_ they’re doing the deal first.”

“You saw that . . . that _thing_.” I shuddered in disgust. “How could the Shadow Broker deal with them? How could anyone?”

“I don’t know,” Feron admitted. He looked around, and then guided me down another corridor toward a set of massive sealed doors. “I always trusted the Broker before now. He’s a tough customer but he always seemed neutral, no agenda other than simple profit. This, I don’t understand. It’s not like anything he’s ever done before. Maybe that’s why I’m helping you. I want to know more.”

A flash of deduction came to me. I stared at him. “Back on Omega, when you fired at Tazzik’s ship and missed. That wasn’t an accident after all, was it?”

He blinked in surprise. “You’re sharp. No, that wasn’t an accident, although I wouldn’t have done it if I thought there was any risk of us failing to recover Shepard’s remains as a result. I knew we would be able to outrun Tazzik’s ship wherever he was planning to take the body. We just had to see which direction he would go.”

“You were still taking a big risk. Why did you do it?”

“Because if we recovered the body there, that would have ended the deal with the Collectors, and we wouldn’t have had any way to find out where the hand-over was supposed to take place. If there’s one thing I’ve learned as an information trader, it’s that if you need to know something . . . you go to the source.”

Feron opened his omni-tool and hacked the doors. Behind them we found a large room, well lit, full of computers and data-processing equipment. At the far end of the room I saw a holographic stage, with a distorted, shadowy figure standing there.

“Reporting in for work, Feron?” said a voice from the stage, deep and mechanical, obviously masked by an electronic distortion device. “People only come to see the Shadow Broker when called. I didn’t call.”

More indirection. At that time, the Shadow Broker kept his identity a carefully preserved secret. Not even his closest agents knew who he was. His race, his gender, even whether he was a single being or a committee – all concealed in darkness.

“I’m waiting for an answer, Feron,” said the voice. “Since when do you believe you can come here uninvited?”

Feron leaned close and whispered in my aural cavity. “Liara . . . I know you don’t trust me, but this is a major node in the Broker’s network. If I can have a few minutes with these systems, I can find out _everything_ he ordered here. Everything to do with the Collectors, and with Shepard.”

“I understand,” I told him. “I’ll play for time.”

“Well?” demanded the voice.

“I don’t need an invitation,” I said loudly, striding down the length of the room toward the image. “If you’re working with the Collectors, if you’re planning to sell _my friend’s remains_ to them, then I’m going to stop you.”

“Your objections are futile, Dr. T’Soni.” The voice paused to let that sink in. “Yes, I know who you are and what you want. I have nothing personal against Shepard or any of his friends. The Collectors offered more than sufficient compensation for this task. Simply good business.”

“You don’t know what you’re dealing with,” I told the Shadow Broker, my biotics flaring into life around my fists as I advanced. “Shepard died looking for evidence of the _Reapers_. _They_ were behind the attack on the Citadel. They’re threatening to come back into the galaxy and eradicate all of us. Did you ever consider that the Collectors’ interest might be related? That the Collectors might be pawns of the Reapers themselves? What could _possibly_ be worth the risk of allying yourself with _them?”_

“You make too much of this, Dr. T’Soni. It’s a corpse. What could they possibly gain from it?”

“You don’t know, do you?” I stepped up close to the image, close enough to see the holographic equipment projecting it. Electricity danced up and down my body now, blue-white rage just waiting to be unleashed. “Don’t you think it’s damnably irresponsible to give the Collectors what they want _when you don’t even know why?_ ”

“That’s none of your concern, Doctor. The deal is done. Tazzik is about to make the exchange. Right now, the only people who aren’t where they need to be are the two of you. As soon as I give the word, my staff there on Alingon will come. If you’re working for someone else, they will get it out of you. It’s not my usual method for gathering information, but it is effective . . .”

“Liara, I’ve got it!” shouted Feron.

I _smashed_ the holographic projectors with a biotically enhanced blow, banishing the Shadow Broker’s presence. Then I turned to walk back the way I had come, lashing out to every side with my mind. With every step my frustrated rage mounted higher, lending my biotics more and more strength. Whips and streamers of telekinetic force curled around me, crushing consoles and data banks. I seized a table with both hands, ripped it out of its mounting, and hurled it across the room to destroy a data core. Finally a scream tore itself out of my throat. Biotic lightning filled the entire space, shattering every display panel or crystal-memory unit it could reach.

The scream stopped. I let my corona collapse and go out. Once neat and orderly, the room now stood full of wreckage, the air laden with acrid smoke and the scent of ozone.

“That felt good.”

Feron watched me with wide eyes. “ _Goddess of oceans_ , Liara.”

“I’ve been having severe anger-management issues for the past several days. You may have noticed.”

“Yes.” He blinked rapidly several times, and then decided to take refuge in practical matters. “Well, it’s probably a good thing. Alingon is cut off until the Broker’s men can repair some of the comm channels you just smashed. I’ve downloaded everything I needed about the Broker’s dealings. All we have to do now is get Shepard and get out of here.”

Then I heard something. Voices, coming down the hallway outside.

“. . . All I know is the Broker’s command channel is suddenly throwing nothing but static,” said a flanging turian voice. I thought it sounded familiar. “There’s something big going down today. I’m not going to be blamed for anything screwing it up.”

I motioned to Feron, who ducked for cover behind a wrecked communications console. I stood in the open, checking my sidearm and calling up my corona once again. I felt a sharp pain in the back of my head, on the verge of overusing my biotic talents. I hadn’t used so much telekinetic force since Shepard, Ashley, and I fought the Saren-monster aboard the Citadel.

The door opened and a squad of the Shadow Broker’s men stepped into the room: Joppa and Delwian, two batarians, and a human. “Nobody’s ever allowed to talk to anyone else around here,” said Joppa. “How do we know this isn’t some kind of damn drill?”

“Oh, it’s quite real,” I said calmly. “Take my word for it.”

Seven pairs of eyes opened wide.

A punch followed by a high kick laid Delwian out cold on the deck. My Shuriken chattered and the human twisted briefly before going down. A heavy biotic throw flung the two batarians aside like two sacks of meal, easy prey for Feron as he opened fire.

Joppa managed to recover, firing at me with his assault rifle. My kinetic barriers shed part of the attack, and I flash-stepped aside from the rest of it. A quick spin in place and my fist shattered his jaw, breaking several of his teeth and knocking him senseless. He fell back hard against the wall behind him and slid down to the floor, all the fight gone out of him.

Feron walked calmly past me, but I took a moment to stand over Joppa. “As I recall, you were looking for an asari of your own. _Be careful what you wish for_ _.”_

The drell peered at me as the heavy doors closed behind us. “Are you feeling better, or should I find some krogan for you to beat to death?”

“Don’t tempt me. Instead, why don’t you tell me who you’re _really_ working for?”

“I think you can deduce that for yourself.”

I stared at him. “I would say Cerberus, except that Operative Lawson didn’t seem to know it.”

“She doesn’t. It’s safer that way. My deal is directly with the Illusive Man.”

“So, what, you’re a _triple_ agent? Playing me, the Shadow Broker, Cerberus, all of us off against each other?”

“I’m just Feron.” He shrugged. “Do we really need to have this conversation now? Tazzik is going to be here any minute with Shepard’s body.”

“You can talk and walk at the same time.”

“True.” He sighed and looked pensive as we moved carefully through the Shadow Broker’s facility. “I used to work on my own, but that never paid very well. A few years ago the Broker started hiring me for occasional work: intelligence gathering, surveillance, that sort of thing. Small jobs. Say what you like about the Broker, but he’s usually honest and he pays well.

“Cerberus tried to recruit me a few times, tried to turn me against the Broker, but I always turned them down. I don’t cheat an employer. I don’t care how much I’m offered to do it. Besides, why should anyone who isn’t human work for Cerberus?

“Then the Broker started negotiating with the Collectors. He even made a bargain to turn Shepard’s body over to them. That was too much, too perverse. It wasn’t the Broker I thought I knew. So I decided to stop him, but I needed help. I turned to Cerberus. The Illusive Man and I came up with a plan to grab the body, and recover intelligence about _why_ the Broker would be willing to work with the Collectors.

“But then the Broker started to doubt my loyalty. I thought I had been careful, but he must have suspected me of playing both sides against the middle. Maybe I was seen talking to Miranda, I don’t know. He started to cut me out. I needed a way back in . . . and then _you_ came along.”

I nodded. “I was your way back into the Broker’s good graces.”

“Right. I volunteered to distract you while the Broker’s deal went down.”

“It must not have worked, if he sent those mercenaries after us. He still didn’t think he could trust you.”

“Well, he _couldn’t_ trust me, could he? Neither could you.” He stopped, turned to hold my gaze. “I was just going to lead you away, lead you to Cerberus, and go back to get Shepard later myself. I guess the Illusive Man thought we would work better as a team.”

“He was right,” I said reluctantly. “We do work well together. Even if I _have_ wanted to throw you through a bulkhead several times over.”

He made a sharp-edged smile.

“I suppose I’m finished as an information trader after this. The Broker will make sure nobody trusts me again, and I’m certainly not going to sign on permanently with Cerberus.” Feron produced a data stick, pressing it into my hand. “I’m sorry _you_ weren’t able to trust me. Maybe this will make up for it, at least a little. This is everything I was able to download from the Broker’s networks. Make sure it gets to Cerberus.”

Then he turned and walked away down the corridor, his shoulders hunched as if he carried a heavy weight.

I watched him, and suddenly realized I had been wrong about him. He might have been forced to live on Omega, he might have been working in a twisted and corrupt profession . . . but deep down, he wanted to do the right thing. He was trying to be an honest man.

“Feron.”

He stopped, but he still wouldn’t turn to look at me.

“You’ve helped me get this far. I wish you had been more open with me from the beginning . . . but I understand why you weren’t.” I stepped close and touched his arm. “Words aren’t the only things that speak the truth. I trust you.”

He glanced at me, still uneasy but grateful. “All right. Uh, I guess this is it, then. No matter what happens, you get Shepard’s body – and those data – out of here. Preferably both.”

I gave him a determined smile. It felt strange, the first time I had smiled since the destruction of the _Normandy_. “Don’t worry, Feron. _We will_.”


	5. Escape

**_6 July 2183, Shadow Broker Facility/Alingon_ **

It felt familiar. Once more Feron and I crouched in concealment, watching the Shadow Broker’s men carrying out a monstrous transaction. This time, they negotiated with an actual monster.

The Collector bent close to the open front of the stasis pod, every insectile limb twitching and moving. “Good,” it said in its deep voice. “The product is exactly as required. The Shadow Broker has done well.”

A volus spokesman bobbed nervously nearby. “It was Tazzik here . . . who took care of the last . . . er, _leg_.”

The gigantic salarian troubleshooter nodded in satisfaction. “You don’t need to take inventory. It’s hard to recognize, I know. Can’t even tell for sure if it was a man or a woman, blown to hell like that. But it’s all there, and it’s all yours as soon as the Shadow Broker receives his payment.”

Feron tensed. “Okay, this is it. You know what to do. Get the body and the data out of here, no matter what else happens.”

“Agreed.”

“Now stay put for a minute. I think I still have one last play left in me.” Feron set his sidearm down on the deck, stood up, and walked calmly out into the middle of the open space.

My heart leaped in terror.

Feron put on his smooth, amiable façade. “Taz, you old salarian son of a bitch!”

The salarian turned, frowning. “Huh. Thought I saw you skulking around on Omega. There some reason why the boss has you tailing me?”

“I’ll say. There’s a problem with the payment. The Broker’s not happy with the arrangement.”

The Collector recoiled in something that resembled anger. “There is _no_ problem with the arrangement. Half now, half when we have confirmed Shepard’s identity for ourselves.”

Feron shook his head, projecting sadness. He walked over to the stasis pod, glanced inside, and then closed its lid in the Collector’s face. “The Broker doesn’t have time to wait while you screw around playing coroner. He wants all the money _now_ , or no Shepard. Try to find another. Maybe someone will sell you a kit.”

“We haven’t heard anything from the Broker about this,” growled Tazzik. “What are you trying to pull?”

“You may have noticed that communications from the Broker are down. He sent me with this order in person. Code word _itun-shagai_. Shepard goes back into your hold until further notice.”

Tazzik still hesitated.

“You wouldn’t want to disappoint the Broker, would you, Taz?” Feron glanced upward at a security camera mounted on the ceiling high overhead. “We may not be able to communicate with him right now, but he’s _always_ watching.”

“Screw this shit,” said Tazzik at last. “All right, boys, get the pod back aboard the ship. We’re not going anywhere until this gets sorted out.”

“ _This is unacceptable!_ ” shouted the Collector, some kind of feedback rendering its voice a mechanical howl. Then it stood abruptly still, as if falling into a reverie.

“Please be calm, esteemed beings . . . I’m certain this will be worked out . . . to everyone’s mutual satisfaction,” said the volus.

Feron stood with folded arms, trying to look disinterested in the results now that his message had been delivered. Tazzik’s men took the gravitic lifts attached to Shepard’s pod, and began to move it back up the gangway into his ship.

I nodded to myself, suddenly understanding Feron’s ploy. As soon as Shepard returned to Tazzik’s hold, Feron and I could seize the ship and escape in it.

Suddenly the Collector seemed to come back to life. Twisting its body in a manner that hurt my eyes, it pointed accusingly at Feron. “The Shadow Broker says: _Feron is a traitor!_ _”_

Tazzik whirled, drawing a sidearm and pointing it at Feron.

The drell shook his head. “Come on, Taz. How could the Shadow Broker have communicated with that thing? Who are you going to believe?”

“How did it know your name, Feron?” asked Tazzik menacingly.

“Ah. Right. You’re smarter than you look. _Liara, now!_ ”

I sprang out from behind cover, a surge of biotic power permitting me a tremendous leap through the air. Another wave of telekinesis lashed out, knocking almost everyone off their feet. The volus, Tazzik’s men, even Tazzik himself went flying.

I ran, firing to both sides, using both my sidearm and Feron’s.

Tazzik pushed himself to his feet, his face twisted with rage. He began to bring his own sidearm to bear.

Feron tackled the enormous salarian from the side, knocking him off balance and ruining his aim. The drell clung to his enemy like a limpet, even as Tazzik used all his strength to try to dislodge him.

I stopped dead, the Collector looming up in front of me, its arms and other limbs spread wide. It began to _glow_ , the light of its eyes spreading, golden radiance beginning to pour from every joint in its carapace.

 **“We are assuming control,”** said the monster’s voice, abruptly far deeper and more resonant than before.

_Is that the Collector speaking at all?_

I shouted and poured gunfire into the monster from both firearms, then hurled it aside with a blazing telekinetic throw. I could see a clear path to the gangway of Tazzik’s ship. I sprinted.

“Feron, come on! Let’s go!”

His voice came to me, thick with pain. “Liara, go! Get out of here. Save Shepard!”

From the top of the gangway, I turned and saw the drell wrapped in Tazzik’s arms, the salarian beating him bloody with blow after blow of his powerful fist.

“ _Feron!_ ”

Then the Collector loomed up at the foot of the gangway, glowing with harsh golden light, preparing a biotic attack of its own.

Time seemed to come to a stop. My mind plotted distances, angles, times. Weighed the threat of the Collector, its unknown capabilities. Tazzik. The Shadow Broker’s other men, doubtless already on their way.

For an instant, one of Shepard’s memories possessed me: standing on a high place on Virmire, trapped in a similar dilemma.

I made the call.

I unleashed both weapons into the Collector’s monstrous face once more, knocking it away with another biotic concussion. Then I bashed the control to close the gangway. I turned away and sprinted for the cockpit.

Knowing that Feron would likely be killed, I abandoned him and ran.

Tazzik’s ship rose and flew out into the night.

Within moments, I knew I was not yet out of danger. As I rose out of Alingon’s magnetosphere and ran for the outer system, I saw sensor returns spring into being behind me. Fighter craft, fast and agile, emerged from the planet’s influence and came about to pursue.

I found the weapons panel. Locked down. I didn’t have the codes to activate it. Cursing, I turned back to the pilot’s board. At least I could push the kinetic barriers to maximum.

The fighters began to open fire at extreme range, closing much too quickly for comfort.

_Goddess help me, I am **not** a combat pilot!_

I tried to remember things that Joker had told me aboard _Normandy_. I jinked to one side, then the other. I used the third dimension, rising abruptly and then pulling into a sharp dive. Anything to break up their targeting solutions.

Despite my efforts, Tazzik’s ship shuddered once, then again, harder the second time. I could see the kinetic barriers beginning to fall.

Another sensor return, appearing out of nowhere just _ahead_ of me . . .

 _Themis_.

Garrus flew past at extreme speed, so close that I could actually _see_ his ship for an instant in the viewport. He fired once, then twice, his considerable velocity adding to the power of the cannon shots.

One of the Shadow Broker’s sentinels flared and vanished from my sensor screen. Then another.

 _“Liara, I sure hope that’s you,”_ Garrus’s beloved voice said over the intership channel. _“You’re clear. Run for it!”_

“About time you showed up!” I frantically punched coordinates into the comm board. “Meet me _here_ as soon as you get free.”

_“You’re five by five. Go!”_

I turned to the pilot’s board, brought the mass-effect core up to full power.

Tazzik’s ship vanished from normal geometry into FTL.

* * *

An hour later, _Themis_ reached our rendezvous point in deep space, half a light-year from Alingon. Garrus came across the docking bridge and immediately found himself with an armful of grateful asari.

“Thank you, Garrus. You came at _exactly_ the right moment.”

His mandibles twitched, a pleased expression. “Glad to be of service.”

I gave him a wan smile, then broke the hug. “We should get Shepard.”

He followed me back into the hold of Tazzik’s ship. Together we maneuvered Shepard’s pod out of the hold and across a few meters of space into _Themis_. Then we disengaged, setting the emergency beacon on Tazzik’s ship and abandoning it in deep space. Before long _Themis_ was back in FTL, on its way to the Osun system and the primary mass relay.

Garrus and I met in the cargo hold, standing over the stasis pod.

“You don’t have to do this, Liara,” he said.

I could feel a ball of terror in my stomach. A long wail hovered in my throat, just waiting to be released. I set my jaw and kept my voice steady. “Yes, I do.”

I opened the outer lid of the stasis pod, leaving the transparent inner lid closed.

Horror stared up at me.

I could barely recognize the remains as human. Some force had torn his left leg away entirely. His right leg had also vanished below the knee, and what remained was charred black. Heat had burned away his genitals and seared most of his lower torso. Nothing remained of his left arm but blackened bone, the right looked like battered meat out of the freezer, and both hands were missing. Nothing was left of his face but a few scraps of burnt and frozen tissue, clinging to the front of his skull. A few blackened teeth grinned up at me. His eyes remained, but they had shriveled to nothing in their vacant sockets.

Bones and battered meat, and how much of his brain could possibly have survived?

_Goddess. He’s gone. There’s nothing left of him._

Ever since the destruction of _Normandy_ _,_ a wall had loomed in my mind, as tall and thick as I could build it. So long as the wall stayed in place, I could function. I could plan, act, fight, kill. I could see a goal and work toward it. If at any moment I felt tempted to break down, I could reinforce the wall with my rage at what had been done to us.

Now I had reached my goal, and Goddess, _I didn’t want it anymore_.

The wall began to crumble.

He had held me in those arms. He had touched me with those hands. He had spoken to me with those lips. He had made love to me with that body, given me such pleasure and happiness I couldn’t bear to recall it. His mind had been sharp and active, different from mine but fascinating, challenging, always trying to goad me into being more than I had been before.

He had been my lodestar.

Now . . .

Nothing left.

Nothing but this _thing_ that I couldn’t stop watching with horrified fascination.

I felt sudden pain in my knees. I had fallen to the deck. I huddled close to the side of the pod, feeling the cold metal gouging into my ribs. My eyes had turned away from the inside of the pod, and I couldn’t see for the stream of tears, but the image had burned itself into my memory anyway. It would always be there.

The wall came down, and I could think of nothing else to do but scream. I did that until my throat went raw. Until Garrus had to flee the cargo bay, covering his aural cavities against the echoing sound. 

* * *

**_8 July 2183, Lazarus Station_ **

A Cerberus station drifted deep in interstellar space, well away from the main trade routes, well-defended against anyone who didn’t have the right passcodes. Garrus refused to come aboard with me, refused to deal with Cerberus. I didn’t argue with him, but neither did I permit him to stop me.

Technicians in Cerberus uniforms rushed forward as soon as the cargo bay opened, taking charge of the stasis pod, whisking it away so I wouldn’t have to look at it anymore.

An hour later, Miranda Lawson met me in a conference room overlooking the surgical bay. I handed over Feron’s data stick, and simply ignored the datapad she attempted to give me in exchange.

“I know you don’t think much of non-humans,” I told her. “I hope you can understand that I won’t _sell_ Shepard to you.”

She nodded, perhaps with a flicker of respect in her ice-blue eyes. “I want you to know that I appreciate everything you’ve done, Doctor. Shepard obviously made some very good friends.”

“Thank you.”

“I wish I had better news for you.” Miranda sighed. “The body is in very bad condition. The helmet protected most of the brain, but not all, and the cells were badly damaged by freezing and exposure to an ammonia atmosphere. By the time the Blue Suns got the remains into a stasis pod . . . well. We’ll do everything we can.”

“I don’t see the point, Miranda. If he’s irretrievably dead, maybe you should just let him rest. This seems too much like something the Collectors would have done.”

“We don’t know _what_ they would have done, Liara, although the data you recovered may tell us something. It might not be that bad. The Illusive Man is more hopeful. He’s committed enormous resources to this project.” Miranda hesitated. “There’s one more thing you may be able to do for Shepard, if you’re willing.”

I glanced at her, suspicious again.

“Recovering information from a brain that’s so badly damaged . . . it’s terribly difficult, Liara. We should be able to recover Shepard’s _personality:_ his attitudes, his moral tendencies, the way he reacts to situations. It’s his _memory_ I’m concerned about.”

I nodded in understanding. “In a living brain memories are stored in extremely fine-grained structures: electrochemical potentials across synapses, even quantum-level phenomena within the individual cells. All of which have almost certainly decayed into random noise by now in Shepard’s brain.”

“Some of that can be recovered, if one has extraordinarily sensitive sensor equipment and a great deal of computational power on hand. Which we do. But . . .”

“But not enough.”

“No. Not enough. Which is where you come in.” Miranda looked slightly uncomfortable for a moment. “Liara, am I correct in believing that you have, ah, _bonded_ with Commander Shepard?”

I tilted my head back slightly and gave her a glance of offended dignity. “You are correct.”

“Then his memories are preserved in your mind.” Miranda stepped closer, her voice persuading, almost pleading. “Your people have technology capable of recording memory from a living brain. Cerberus has taken that technology and improved upon it. It’s been tested many times, and it’s perfectly safe. If you’re willing, we’d like to do a reading of Shepard’s memories as they are stored in your brain.”

I frowned. “For what purpose?”

“As a check on anything we recover from Shepard. And if we’re able to restore his body, his low-level reflexes and personality, but his higher mental functions still elude us . . . your help may give us a better chance of success.”

“I find it difficult to believe that you can discriminate so easily between Shepard’s memories and mine.”

Miranda bit her lip and looked away. “I won’t lie to you. We would have to discriminate after the reading was done. The recording process itself is promiscuous. It reads _everything_ that you remember.”

“Leaving you with all of _my_ memories as well.” I turned away to look out a nearby port. A million stars scattered through eternal night. “Miranda, I still don’t trust Cerberus. Your organization has a habit of turning any resource it finds to ends I cannot countenance. Who knows what you might do with my memories if I agree?”

“Liara, I give you my _personal_ word. Anything you give us will only be used to support the Lazarus Project. Shepard and Shepard alone will benefit . . . and I know you would trust _him_ with this.”

“I would trust him with my life. I have, many times.” I sighed, considering it.

_I’m already committed. I’ve already sold my soul to Cerberus for the mere **chance** that they can bring Shepard back. How can I hold back now? I have to try, even if the risks are terrible._

_Even if Shepard comes back, and hates me for what I have done._

_At least he would be alive to hate me._

“All right. I’ll do it.”

* * *

**_10 July 2183, Lazarus Station_ **

_Themis_ undocked and soared into deep space.

Garrus had hardly spoken to me since we arrived at the station. I knew he respected my grief, but my decision to hand Shepard over to Cerberus had profoundly disturbed him. Now he settled into the co-pilot’s seat and looked out the viewport at the stars.

“So,” he said at last. “How are you holding up?”

“I’ll live, Garrus. Somehow.” I turned to watch him, appreciating him. Steadfast, loyal, a truer friend one could not find anywhere in the galaxy. “Garrus, I know you don’t approve of what I did . . .”

“No,” he said flatly. “But it was your call, and maybe you were right. If Cerberus can bring Shepard back, well, all I can say is that we’re likely to need him before all is said and done. The Reapers are still out there.”

“Yes. I agree.” I reached out and touched his shoulder. “And if they can’t bring him back, then those of us who remember him will fight the Reapers as best we’re able. I truly appreciate what you’ve done for me over the last few days, Garrus. If you ever need help, anything at all, call me. I’ll come running.”

His mandibles twitched. “I may take you up on that. Although Spectres are supposed to work best on their own.”

“We both know one who did very well as part of a team,” I reminded him.

“True.” He leaned back in his chair, checking the co-pilot’s board as a matter of habit. “So what are you going to do now?”

“I’m not sure.” I sat back in my own chair, craning my neck to watch the stars as they moved slowly overhead. “I think I’ll go home and think about it.”

“The estate on Thessia?”

I shook my head, remembering the T’Soni estates, the place where all of Shepard’s friends had enjoyed a final cheerful gathering before parting forever. I had made love to Shepard in the master bedroom, in my mother’s bed, and I had been happy. The estates would remind me of him, of Benezia, of everything I had lost in the last few months.

“No. Until I take possession of the estates in my own right, my official residence is actually on Illium. I’ve lived there for many years, planned a number of archaeological expeditions from there. I’ve got a small apartment in Nos Astra. It will do until I can think of something better.”

“I have a suggestion, if you’re willing to listen to it.”

“Certainly.”

“You’ve shown a lot of talent for the game that both the Illusive Man and the Shadow Broker play.”

I stared at him. “You _cannot_ be serious.”

“I’m deadly serious,” said Garrus. “You’ve got a superb analytic mind. You’re used to sifting through masses of data to pull out one critical fact. Spirits, Liara, while we were fighting Saren you turned out to be the best intelligence analyst we had. You found Virmire. You helped find Ilos. You personally dug up almost every piece of evidence we have on the Reapers.”

“I could _never_ be like the Illusive Man or the Shadow Broker. Lying to people. Manipulating them, like pieces on a game board.”

“That’s just the typical bullshit you get from people who are in positions of power. It’s not a requirement of the information business. Look at Feron. I admit I didn’t like him very much, but he turned out to be pretty honest in the end.”

“True.” I thought about it. “I wonder what happened to him? Do you suppose the Shadow Broker would keep him alive?”

“I don’t know.” He peered at me, saw a moment of weakness and sank in the rhetorical knife. “There’s only one way to find out.”

I saw what he meant. “Get into the Shadow Broker’s network. Discover his secrets. Fight him in his own arena.”

“That’s right. Make him pay for what he did to Feron, what he tried to do to Shepard. Stop him from allying with the Collectors, and maybe even with the Reapers.”

I frowned, my eyes scanning the pilot’s board without really seeing it. “I suppose I’ll think about it.”


	6. Four Rooms, Four Days

**_12 July 2183, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

“VI, lights.”

The lights came up, just as if I hadn’t been away for half a year. I looked around and thought approvingly of my cleaning service. The place looked exactly as I had left it: living space to the left, my office straight ahead, kitchen and dining space to the right, a curved staircase leading up to the loft and my bedroom. Everything appeared clean and neat and rather sterile.

I set my traveling bag and a large case down on the floor and started back to the office, but something stopped me before I could go more than one or two steps. I had to look around for a moment to decide what annoyed me.

The enormous plate windows opened onto a breathtaking view of the Nos Astra skyline. Breathtaking beauty wasn’t what I needed right then.

“VI, polarize windows to full opacity.”

The windows became black, unreflective surfaces.

_There. Cave. That’s better._

In my office, the VI presented the backlog of messages that had built up since the destruction of _Normandy_. Five minutes of work disposed of the vast majority, low-priority items and junk mail. Kallyria and Sha’ira had sent warm notes, offering their sympathy and support. Dr. Alene Passante from Serrice had done the same, with the added suggestion that I come back to a teaching position at the university. Dr. Amanda Kenson of Arcturus had no sympathy to offer, but she did describe some interesting preliminary results regarding dating of the mass relays.

“VI, compose short thank-you notes for Dr. Passante, Matriarch Kallyria, and _hetaira_ Sha’ira. Inform them that I am well but can’t consider returning to Thessia for the time being. Send upon completion. Hold Dr. Kenson’s message for later response.”

The console made a soft bell-tone of acknowledgement.

I sat motionless at the desk. Illium’s gravity seemed to drag at my limbs, about twenty percent higher than I had become accustomed to aboard _Normandy_. I looked around at the empty apartment.

I was alone.

_I used to like being alone. What happened?_

Shepard had happened, of course. All of _Normandy_ ’s people had exerted some influence, but mostly it had been Shepard.

 _Damn him for not being more careful. Damn him for rushing off to rescue Joker and leaving me alone_.

I caught myself, irritably knuckled the beginnings of tears out of my eyes. The rational, educated part of my mind recognized the problem. The _anger_ stage of my grieving process tempted me to blame even Shepard for my pain.

 _We’ll have no more of that, Liara T’Soni. If you must be angry, save it for those more deserving_.

The more primal part of my mind refused to listen. It mostly wanted to howl at the stars. Or curl up in a hole somewhere and lick its wounds. That second option seemed more appealing.

I had a snug little cave, there on Illium. I could lock myself away from the universe for a while. Plan what to do with the rest of my life. Learn to enjoy solitude again.

_Well, maybe not that last. I can’t imagine ever again being happy to be alone._

In any case, I would have to eat. I took refuge in the process of planning meals for the next few days. I contacted my usual delivery service and placed a grocery order: bread, _aegos_ -milk and butter, fruit preserves, packets of noodles, fish steaks, prepared shellfish, a variety of fresh fruits and vegetables, milled _kostai_ grain, a case of assorted fruit juices, a few bottles of wine, some imported chocolate and cocoa powder.

I also placed an order for another display case. I already had several Prothean artifacts on display around the apartment, bits of stone and ceramic of no real archaeological value. Now I had one more piece of history to set up as a reminder of the past.

I walked back out into the main living space and sat down on the floor next to the large case. After I entered a digital code, the mechanical latches unsnapped and I could lift the lid aside.

Inside rested a battered piece of armor: Shepard’s chest-plate. I had cleaned it of scorch marks and scraps of the inner lining, but I had made no attempt to repair it. It remained scuffed and torn, just as it had been when I recovered it from Alchera. I lifted it out of the case, smoothed a hand over the rough surface, and tried very hard not to remember the time I had last seen him wearing it.

I decided to set the display up in the middle of the apartment, where no one would be able to avoid seeing it. It would be my barometer. When I could look at it without anguish, with nothing more than a little nostalgia, then I would be ready to go on with the rest of my life.

 _That might take a while._  

* * *

Dreaming.

I stood in the cargo hold of _Themis_ again, looking down at what was left of Shepard.

The head turned its sightless eyes toward me. The arms moved as if to reach out for me.

In the middle of the night, I awoke screaming. Again.

* * *

**_13 July 2183, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

I have always found a simple pleasure in the act of cooking. Boil some _kostai_ in a pot, then throw the softened grain into a stir-fry pan with diced shellfish meat and some vegetables. Add some judicious dashes of spice. Pour a tall glass of the chilled Serrice white, and dinner is _served_.

Cooking was one of the few basic skills my mother did _not_ insist I learn. I was a T’Soni, after all, and in time I would be head of the lineage; all my life I would have others to cook for me. Then I left home to become a shy academic instead of the great aristocrat my mother expected, and I adamantly refused to take any servants with me. At the university I learned to cook for myself; over the years that followed I learned to do it well. When one is alone on a distant planet, living in a prefab shelter, one of the few comforts one can enjoy is the ability to make a decent meal out of whatever might be available. Living on Illium, with an effectively unlimited budget, I could do far better than a _decent_ meal.

After dinner I reviewed Dr. Kenson’s message again. She had come up with a clever technique for estimating the age of a mass relay, based on the composition of dust grains trapped in its mass-effect field. Using this technique, she had estimated the age of several relays in Alliance space. None of them were as recent as the Prothean era. All of them were millions of years old, some of them _many_ millions of years old. They had not all been built at the same time, or even during the same geological era.

I sent Dr. Kenson a lengthy reply, encouraging her to continue with her investigations. I suggested that she try to find a _pattern_ in the age of the mass relays. Were relays in one part of the galaxy appreciably newer or older than elsewhere? Was there any correlation between a relay’s age and the presence of known civilizations of the past?

I left unspoken the real concern: had the mass relays actually been built by the Reapers? And _could we prove it?_

Proof. Proof of the impossible. Proof that there existed a force in the universe that intended our utter extinction.

Shepard had died trying to find such proof. We desperately needed it.

 _Or do we?_ I suddenly thought. _Is that really what we most need right now?_

I sent the message, and then leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes.

 _What we scientists do is all very well, but this is not truly a scientific problem_.

We searched for proof that not even the most hidebound politician could ignore. But there stood the root of the problem. Politicians didn’t really care about objective fact. What they cared about was keeping and using their power. They had an unlimited ability to ignore facts that didn’t fit their pre-existing worldviews.

Every scientist in the galaxy could come before the Council, bearing irrefutable evidence that the Reapers existed and their return was imminent, and it would do no good. The level of response that the threat demanded would itself turn civilization upside down. Any such proposal would be dead before it could be drafted. The Council would thank the scientific community for its input, and then go right on as it had done before.

We faced a _political_ problem. Those of us who knew could not be satisfied with trying to _convince_ the galaxy’s leaders to act. If that worked, good, but we could not count on it working. We had to find a way to _force_ them to act.

_How?_

Try as I might, I didn’t see any way. I went to clean up the dinner dishes, take a luxuriously hot shower, and then go to bed. 

* * *

Benezia stood in my dream, dressed exactly as when I had last seen her alive. Black, all in black, tall and hieratic in a long gown, an elaborate headdress concealing her fringe and part of her face. Her eyes burned. She raised a hand to point accusingly at me.

“Please, Mother,” I begged. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to die. I didn’t want to have to kill you.”

 _“Fool,”_ came the harsh denunciation. _“Do you think my death matters?”_

Blood poured out of the great wound in her side, dripped from her fingers, pooled on the floor at her feet. It covered my hands.

_“You know what must be done. What I would have done, had I been free.”_

“Mother?”

_“There is no one else. You know what you must do.”_

* * *

 

**_14 July 2183, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

Life without sound sleep seemed very difficult. When the VI announced a visitor, I had a hard time getting to my feet, putting on a silk robe, and staggering down the stairs.

“Liara. You look _terrible_.”

My visitor hugged me, very thoroughly but only for a moment. Then she moved inside my apartment, looking around with wide eyes, chattering at a kilometer per second.

I sighed. “Hello, Aspasia.”

She stopped and turned to look at me more closely. I examined her as well.

I saw an asari maiden: a little shorter than me, her skin a deep blue except for a spray of indigo markings around her eyes, the eyes themselves a startling jade color, her face round with a snub nose and full lips, her body much more lushly curved than mine. She wore a stylish gown in violet and forest green, accentuating her figure and setting off her eyes. She wasn’t _beautiful_ , not exactly, but she was very attractive, radiating raw sensuality in a way that captured the eye.

I had known Aspasia Lehanai for about forty years, ever since we were undergraduates together. Two more unlikely friends would have been hard to imagine. I came from an old aristocratic lineage on Thessia; she came from an _alphēstios_ lineage on Illium, the daughter of a successful indentured servant. I studied Prothean archaeology, a field no one considered of any use; she studied the eminently practical fields of economics and business administration. I was shy, withdrawn, and studious; she was vivacious, outgoing, and carefree. For her the university meant a series of parties and entertainments. She enjoyed an endless stream of erotic affairs that invariably resembled skyrockets: short, brilliant, and explosively self-destructive.

Yet for all our differences, somehow we formed an attachment, and had been as close as sisters ever since. It helped that despite appearances, she was intellectually brilliant. I always envied her ability to carouse half the night and still earn top marks in an examination the next day.

“Liara, I was _hurt_. I saw you had returned to Illium, but you never sent a _word_. I thought I would drop by and be _magnificently_ angry at you . . . but something _terrible_ must have happened, I can see that. What’s wrong? Can I help?”

All in one breath. I had to laugh softly. She hadn’t changed in the slightest.

“No, Aspasia, I don’t think you can help with this. What have you seen on the news channels?”

“I saw you were involved with the fight against that rogue Spectre, Saren, and those terrible synthetics that attacked the Citadel.” Aspasia moved to sit on the long couch in the living room. “I found it all _very_ strange. One moment you were off on some planet on the galaxy’s edge digging for bones, the next you were flying about on that human ship playing soldier. I could hardly believe the stories I heard.”

“You probably only heard a small part of the truth.” I hesitated, sat down across from her. “Did you see anything about _Normandy_ ’s captain?”

“Yes. _Commander Shepard_. Strong, vigorous, dynamic. Quite the tragic hero, to accomplish so much and then die so young.” Her eyes widened as she put the facts together. “Oh Liara, you _didn’t_.”

“I’m afraid I did. He and I were _siavi_ -consorts. For about a month.”

“I see.” She was all seriousness now. “Did you love him?”

“More than anything,” I said quietly.

“I _knew_ it.” She shook her head. “The whole time at university I watched you, never having a liaison with anyone, always buried in your studies. I knew you were eventually going to find someone, and when you did it was going to savage you like a charging _arktos_. You would take love terribly seriously, the same way you take _everything_ seriously. Goddess, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I am coping.”

She sat quietly for a moment, thinking hard. “Liara . . . tell me the whole story.”

“What?”

“I want to hear all of it. I want to hear what happened to _you_. I want to help, and the way to start is to understand.” She reclined, arranging herself like an odalisque on the couch, watching me with wide-eyed attention. “Besides, the last few months, listening to the news . . . I could tell something terribly important was going on, but the media never seemed to have the real story. Most of it was all snarled up in the Alliance and their ridiculous human system of secrets and classification.”

I hesitated for a moment longer, but then decided I had nothing more important to do with my time. It felt good to renew a friendship.

I told her the entire story, from the day the geth arrived on Therum to the day _Normandy_ was destroyed: all our battles, all our investigations, all of the political maneuvering, our triumphs and our eventual defeat. And because we were asari, and because she was Aspasia, I went on at length about Shepard. What he was like. What it was like to be his lover.

It took all day, with a break for a shared meal. She was a good listener. She laughed at the funny parts, was serious at the dangerous parts, and shed a few gentle tears at the end.

She left me with an enveloping hug, a gentle kiss on the cheek, and a promise that she would come back with a bottle of wine for us to share. “And maybe we’ll get you out of this depressing little cavern,” she said. “This is _Nos Astra_ , Liara, it’s not a place to be somber and lonely.”

* * *

Aspasia’s visit must have done me some good. After she left, I puttered around the apartment for a while, sealed Shepard’s armor into its display case, checked my message queue, cooked and ate an evening meal. Instead of showering I drew a bath, lounging in the hot water and letting the jets massage me into a boneless puddle. Then I went to bed, almost dreading what dreams might come.

I awakened in the morning, free of nightmares, fully rested and alert for the first time since _Normandy_ was destroyed.

Just in time for the next disaster.

* * *

**_15 July 2183, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

Dramatic vids that cover the years before the Reaper War often portray me as some kind of avatar of Vengeance. To hear them tell it, Liara T’Soni was so consumed by anger over the death of her lover that she swore to destroy the one who had dared molest his remains: the Shadow Broker. That was why she became an information broker and political operator.

It didn’t actually happen that way.

True, I had nothing but rage for whoever had come out of the darkness to destroy _Normandy_ and kill Shepard. I was furious at the Shadow Broker for trying to turn his remains over to the Collectors. But Shepard was gone, his remains were safe, the Broker had been defeated. Mission accomplished. If I understood the Broker at all, he would minimize his losses and move on to the next project, not bothering to carry a grudge. When I first returned to Illium, I saw no reason to consider myself his enemy. My next conflict with the Collectors and the Broker came much later, long _after_ I had taken up my new career. By then I opposed them because of their cooperation with the Reapers, not due to personal motives.

My new vocation _was_ admittedly born in wrath . . . but the ones who summoned up my anger, who irrevocably changed the course of my life, they had different names.

 _Tevos. Valern_. _Sparatus_.

Six weeks after the Battle of the Citadel, the Council released its first public report on the events of the war against _Sovereign_ and the geth.

It was a complete whitewash.

The report named Saren Arterius and Benezia T’Soni as the prime movers behind a conspiracy to overthrow the Council. It painted the geth as Saren’s dupes, victims of an appeal to their religious beliefs about the destiny of synthetic life. It described _Sovereign_ as simply a geth dreadnought, destroyed by the heroic Citadel Fleet . . . with some _minor_ assistance from the Alliance.

The Council claimed to have been in control of the situation the entire time, never in any serious danger. They barely mentioned Shepard, except as a Spectre who had fought against Saren and then fallen victim to a “pirate ambush” in the Terminus Systems.

The report made no mention of the Reapers – or of their _indoctrination_ – at all.

The Council held up Saren _and my mother_ as the greatest villains since the end of the Krogan Rebellions, while completely dismissing the real threat.

I read the report, down to its final ghastly paragraph. Then I checked my incoming message queue.

I saw over _two thousand_ incoming messages, with more appearing even as I watched.

_Goddess, the Council has thrown me to the predators._

“VI, new filters,” I commanded, trying to keep a note of panic out of my voice. “Any message from a source positively identified as belonging to the journalism, opinion-shaping, or entertainment sectors is to be moved to a new folder, labeled _Benezia-Alpha_. Any message not falling under the first filter, but from a source which has never communicated with me before last night at midnight, or which is not using a gold-certified authentication protocol to prove its identity, is to be moved to a second new folder, labeled _Benezia-Beta_. Implement and execute at once on all the messages currently in the inbox.”

The VI chimed. The incoming message queue shrank dramatically. I glanced over the twenty or so messages that remained, a priority list taking shape in my mind.

“VI, call Kallyria T’Soni on Thessia.”

The call took a few moments to go through, but then my aunt’s face appeared on the screen. “I know why you are calling, Liara.”

“It’s a pack of lies, Aunt. Lies of omission, at least, and that’s enough to tarnish Benezia’s name.”

“I know.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously, probably the first time I had ever seen Kallyria genuinely angry. For a moment, she looked a great deal like my mother. “Rest assured we are _not_ taking this lightly. I intend to gather our allies, call in as many favors as possible. There will be an official Question before the e-democracy by tonight, demanding that Tevos release _all_ of the information regarding Benezia’s involvement in the war. Not just the information that makes Benezia appear to be a monster and the Council appear to be competent.”

“She will fight it,” I predicted. “She has a great deal invested in her image of honest omniscience.”

“That image has gone unchallenged for too long.”

“I agree. May I ask some advice?”

Kallyria nodded.

“I’m being drowned in message traffic: requests for interviews, invitations to appear on news programs, the Goddess knows what else. I don’t doubt there is a death threat or two in there somewhere.”

“It is much the same here.” Kallyria turned her attention to her keyboard for a moment. An icon appeared on my screen, indicating that she had sent me a text note. “There is a legal firm on Illium that specializes in libel law and public relations, and has done work for our lineage before. Here is their contact information. They will know what to do. Keep up your courage, Liara, and we will all get through this.”

“There is more.” I took a deep breath. “Aunt, ever since Shepard was killed . . .”

“I heard about that,” she said, looking sympathetic. “I am very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. Ever since then, I’ve been casting about for something to do to carry on his work. Whether the Council wishes to admit to it or not, the Reapers will someday be here. We aren’t ready for them.”

“What do you propose?”

“We need to get into the political arena,” I told her. “We need to challenge the galaxy’s leaders, push the truth into their faces, force them to stop denying it. The Council, planetary governments, influential business leaders, anyone we can reach. Every small step we can take to prepare may make all the difference in the end.”

“You speak of force,” said Kallyria cautiously. “What do you have in mind?”

“We’ll start with reasoned argument. If that doesn’t work, we do what is necessary.”

“Misdirection?” she asked quietly. “Blackmail? Coercion?”

“If we must.” I held her gaze across thousands of light-years. “I’m tired of playing the victim. Especially when it’s at the hands of people who ought to be on our side against the real enemy.”

“I will pray for you, child.”

“Will you _support_ me?”

She nodded slowly. “As far as I can. I hope that will be enough.”

“I hope so too. The responsibility will be mine.”

Once Kallyria had disconnected, I rose from the desk and walked out into the living room. I stared at Shepard’s armor for a long moment, then turned my back on it and moved over to the enormous windows.

“VI, depolarize the windows.”

The sun shone down on the glorious Nos Astra skyline. A thousand aircars zoomed by in their carefully allocated lanes. It all looked very beautiful, a shining city, one of the wonders of the galaxy.

Of course, I had lived here before. I knew what went on beneath the surface. There was a great deal of power in this place, not all of it honest or clean.

I resolved to see what I could do with some of it.


	7. Opening Moves

**_31 July 2183, Agon Studio, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

“Five minutes.”

I sat very still and permitted the cosmetics specialist to touch up my face.

I have always hated to wear cosmetics of any kind. On that first of many public appearances, I had to steel myself to tolerate them. Over the centuries since, I’ve grown to take the necessity in stride.

I wore an elegant lavender gown, high-necked and very conservative, with gloves to match. A layer of base and shadow ensured that the bright lights would not wash out my skin tone. Indigo subtly outlined my lips, and more subtle touches of color shone at the corners of my eyes.

I reminded myself to be as expressive as possible with my eyes. Other asari have generally found them to be my best feature, given their size, shape, and purity of color.

The cosmetics specialist held a mirror for me. I examined my face closely and nodded in satisfaction. I looked attractive, intelligent, respectable, and about two centuries older than my actual age.

“Are you ready, Doctor?”

Rhea Velantis had taken her seat, smiling across the table at me. She was a tall, graceful asari, with pale-violet skin, gamin features, and one of the most compelling smiles I had ever seen. She looked far too pretty and delicate to be so widely feared.

“Is anyone _ever_ ready for this, Rhea?”

Her eyes glittered. “Some people have taken that chair believing that they were.”

I lifted my chin and gave her a very slight smile. In that moment we understood one another very well.

* * *

**_15 July 2183, Nos Astra Exchange, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

Aspasia and I walked out into an empty space, an office that had just been vacated by its most recent tenants. We crossed the large room to the great windows at the far end, and looked down at the floor of the Exchange.

“I begin to see why you think you have a chance at this,” she observed soberly. “There should be more than enough space here for what you have in mind.”

“I was actually quite surprised when I learned this building was part of my inheritance. It seems an appropriate place to start.”

“You don’t consider this to be a free investment, I hope.”

“Of course not. By converting this part of the building to my own purposes, I incur an opportunity cost equal to the rent I’m forgoing. Still, it _is_ a good place. It’s centrally located, close to the financial and political centers of Nos Astra. It’s also potentially very secure, once the specialists I have in mind finish their work. I think the costs are acceptable.”

“I see Benezia made you learn _something_ about finance.”

I turned to her, noticing once again how serious she had become. Not like the Aspasia I knew at all. “I don’t claim to be an expert. That’s why I want you to join me in this. You know investment finance and business administration, you know how to run a corporate organization, and I know I can trust you. Will you do it?”

Her jade-green eyes caught and held my gaze. “Liara, do you even have to ask?”

“You seem very certain.”

“Believe me, I am.” She turned and looked out the window once more. “You come from a fortunate lineage, Liara. The T’Sonis are wealth and power, aristocrats and great Matriarchs going back thousands of years in an unbroken line. One of the things I’ve always loved about you is the way you rebelled against that. You insisted on building your life on the foundation of your own _areté_ _.”_

“I don’t understand,” I said quietly.

“You _earned_ the respect you might have been satisfied to inherit. You could have chosen differently. I never had that choice.” She glanced at me, a flicker in her eyes of mixed resentment and pride. “A thousand years ago my grandmother was a peasant farmer, living on a great lineage’s estate on Thessia. My mother grew up with nothing, inherited nothing. In order to emigrate to Illium she had to sign an indenture that bound her for centuries. She was a _slave_ , Liara, and I think you know all the ways in which Illium works to keep its slaves tied down. She had to fight, scratch, _claw_ her way back to freedom and a small fortune. Enough so her daughters could go to university and climb the ladder a little higher.”

I nodded. I had always known that under Aspasia’s façade of cheerful irresponsibility, there lurked a great deal of driven ambition.

“Now you offer me a chance to work _here_.” She gestured at the floor of the Exchange far below us. “And what you plan to do is going to earn you a lot of enemies. Rich and powerful people are going to hate you. They’re going to oppose you with everything they have.”

“I know. I’m almost counting on it.”

She smiled grimly at me. “You don’t think it will give me pleasure to see some of those arrogant fools brought low? Me, the slave’s daughter?”

I took her hand. “Aspasia, you are an evil person and I can’t imagine anyone I would rather have at my side in this.”

“Let’s see if you’re still willing to say that _after_ we finish drafting a business plan.”

* * *

**_31 July 2183, Agon Studio, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

“I am Rhea Velantis, and this is _Agon_. Our guest today is Dr. Liara T’Soni, respected archaeologist and daughter of the controversial Matriarch Benezia T’Soni. Doctor, we are very grateful that you have chosen to visit us.”

I smiled pleasantly. “Thank you for the opportunity, Rhea.”

“Doctor, our review of your career tells us that you are quite a remarkable _maiden_. At an age when most asari spend their time frivolously, you have already become a tenured professor at the University of Serrice on Thessia, recognized throughout the galaxy as a leading expert in your field. What has driven you to accomplish so much, so early in your life?”

“At first I think it was simple curiosity,” I answered, pretending not to notice her repeated references to my youth. “The Prothean civilization is one of the galaxy’s great mysteries. Even we asari know very little about them. They captured my attention when I was quite young, and my interest in them shaped the course of study I selected when I attended the university.”

“Yet archaeology is not a discipline many asari favor.”

“That’s true. I’ve often wondered why that is so. Perhaps our history leads us to discount the value of archaeology. We asari have the longest historical tradition of any civilized species, with extant records stretching back over thirty thousand years. We believe we know ourselves and our origins adequately. Why sift through old potsherds when the boundless future lies before us?” I smiled at her, inviting her to share a joke. “Many might say that my interest is just as frivolous as any other maiden’s.”

“So you are an expert on extinct civilizations.” Velantis leaned forward expectantly. “I understand you have spent the last few months working in a very unusual venue. Aboard a human warship, of all places.”

“Yes. At the beginning of the recent war, I was working alone on Therum, a remote planet in the Artemis Tau cluster. One day geth under the command of Saren Arterius attacked my work site. They nearly captured me.”

“Why did the geth pursue you?”

I gave her a direct stare. “Saren found he needed the services of a Prothean expert.”

I could see her consider whether to open the subject of my mother’s involvement with Saren, then set the idea aside.

 _That will be the ambush question_.

“I see,” she said, with almost no hesitation. “What happened then?”

“I managed to evade capture for three days. Then a human ship, the _Normandy_ , arrived at Therum and rescued me. The _Normandy_ was under the command of William Shepard, the first human to be inducted into the Citadel’s Special Tactics and Reconnaissance corps. He had been assigned to find and deal with Saren.”

“You joined this Spectre’s crew, did you not?”

“I did. It seemed obvious that Saren’s goals had to do with Prothean artifacts and technology. I accepted a place on _Normandy_ as a civilian consultant, and worked with Commander Shepard and his crew as they pursued their campaign against Saren . . .”

* * *

**_22 July 2183, Tasale System Space_ **

“Why must we meet your friend out _here?_ _”_ Aspasia demanded.

We had left Illium a few hours before, flying into the outer system and placing _Themis_ into a wide orbit around the gas giant Thail. Now we sat at the table in the small galley, sharing a bottle of Thessian red while we waited.

“Because the last time she visited Illium, she was treated with extraordinary disrespect.” I finished my glass and decided against having any more wine. “I thought it would be wise not to ask her to set foot on the planet again until after we had come to an agreement.”

“You’re being very _mysterious_ , Liara. I think I _like_ it.”

I smiled at Aspasia. She had reverted to type.

The ship’s VI chimed for attention. _“An unidentified ship has just dropped into normal geometry, and is on an intercept course.”_

“Transmit the challenge code found in the file _Liara-alpha-one_ ,” I commanded.

 _“Transmitting.”_ There was a moment’s pause, then: _“Response code received and correct.”_

“These are our visitors,” I told Aspasia. “I’ll go manage the intercept and docking. Why don’t you be ready to greet them at the airlock?”

We emerged from the galley and walked down the short corridor to the primary airlock and the cockpit. I could tell Aspasia was still bursting with curiosity.

“So who _are_ our visitors?” she asked.

“You remember our discussion as to how our new corporation could secure a competitive advantage?” I reminded her as I settled into the pilot’s chair and moved _Themis_ toward the other ship.

“Of _course_. There are so _many_ information brokers in the galaxy, Liara, the market is simply _glutted_. Unless we find a way to _compete_ with the largest players from the very beginning, we’re simply _doomed_ to failure.”

“I want us to be able to recover information from unsecured networks, secure our own networks, recall and analyze data, all more quickly and more effectively than anyone else can manage. That implies being more effective in our use of technology.” I completed the docking process, the dull _boom_ of contact with the docking bridge echoing through the hull.

“What technology could _possibly_ be so effective?” she asked.

I heard the airlock cycle. Then Aspasia gave a small squeak of surprise.

“ _Quarian_ technology,” I told her, rising from my chair and turning toward the primary airlock, where another one of my friends was waiting on the threshold. “Welcome, Tali. Your timing is almost perfect.”

The little quarian gave me a friendly hug. “ _Keelah_ , it’s good to see you, Liara. I heard about _Normandy_. . . and about Shepard. I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” I said softly, knowing that the quarian had her own reasons to mourn Shepard. “Aspasia, this is Tali’Zorah vas Neema, another member of Commander Shepard’s crew. Tali, this is Aspasia Lehanai, one of my oldest friends.”

Aspasia made me proud. She extended her hand and shook with Tali without a moment’s hesitation, even though I was fairly sure she had never encountered a quarian before in her life. “Any friend of Liara’s is a friend of mine,” she said stoutly.

We gathered back in the galley, the space seeming even smaller with three of us in it. Aspasia opened a cabinet and produced another bottle of wine.

“I thought we were going to talk business,” said Tali.

“Of _course_ we are, Tali,” said Aspasia. “This is an old Illium _tradition_. Any important proposal simply _must_ be discussed over wine. If it seems like a good idea, then it gets discussed again while we’re sober. If it _still_ seems like a good idea, then we proceed with the proposal.”

“Besides, there’s a piccolo of very good turian brandy in the refrigerator,” I told Tali. “Triple-filtered. Just for you.”

“Well,” said Tali, seating herself at the table. “If you _insist_.”

I seated myself across from her, with Aspasia off to one side. “Tali, I’m going to need a very special set of technical skills. Milspec secure communications, using a variety of protocols. Offensive and defensive cyberwarfare. Extremely high volume, context-sensitive data mining. Natural-language analytic support. VI design and programming. We’ll be working primarily with asari hardware, but I want personnel who can help me get more out of it than most asari believe to be possible.”

Somehow Tali’s intent stare made itself known through the face-plate of her suit. “You’re going to open an information brokerage.”

“That’s right. I hope it will be the best on Illium. I need to hire highly skilled people whom I can trust, and I can afford to pay very well. Do you think there might be some young quarians on Pilgrimage who have the appropriate skills and would be willing to work for me?”

“Ordinarily the problem would be fending off the job applicants with a sharp stick,” said Tali. “But you’re asking them to work on _Illium_ , Liara. That planet _despises_ quarians. Most of my people who have gone there on Pilgrimage have had terrible experiences. Some have never returned, enslaved or simply killed.”

“As you know very well.”

“Yes.” Tali glanced at Aspasia, almost challenging her. “On _my_ Pilgrimage, I traveled with two others: Inar and Keenah. We uncovered evidence of Saren’s conspiracy before anyone else realized what was happening. We ran to Illium first, hoping to turn our evidence over to the asari. The Nos Astra port authority kept us in a holding pattern for half a day because they didn’t want to grant _quarians_ landing clearance. By the time we landed, Saren’s men were on the ground ahead of us. They ambushed us. Inar was killed. The Nos Astra authorities didn’t give a damn, wouldn’t lift a finger to protect us. Keenah and I had to abandon our ship and stow away aboard a turian freighter to try to reach the Citadel.”

Aspasia nodded soberly, her eyes wide, and didn’t say anything.

Tai turned back to me. “So I think you’ll understand, Liara, if I can’t recommend anyone take your jobs unless you can assure me they will be safe.”

“That won’t be a problem,” I said confidently. “I will personally come out here in _Themis_ to pick up any quarians who accept a position with T’Soni Analytics, with the necessary residency and work permits on hand. No one will have trouble being admitted to Illium. Several apartment complexes in Nos Astra cater to turian residents and will also provide for quarians. Our security division will be very well-armed and capable of protecting our own personnel. I can’t promise that the opinions of Nos Astra’s residents will change overnight, but your people should be _physically_ as safe as anyone in the city.”

Tali nodded slowly. “You’ve thought of everything.”

“I hope so. As for pay scales . . .” I picked a datapad out of the clutter on the table and pushed it across to her. “That comes with full access to all of Illium’s technical emporia. Your people will live comfortably while they are here, and they’ll be able to convert their pay into all manner of useful technology when it’s time for them to return to the Migrant Fleet.”

“All right,” said Tali, satisfied. “Both my father and Admiral Xen are interested in your offer, assuming the contract is fair. I think we can provide most of the personnel you will need. In fact, I brought someone with me who insisted upon being the first to join you.”

Aspasia and I didn’t hear any signal, but footsteps sounded in the corridor outside. A male quarian appeared in the doorway, tall and broad-shouldered, his suit richly patterned in crimson and gold trim. He didn’t try to squeeze into the already-cramped galley, but he gave a courtly half-bow to both Aspasia and me.

Tali made introductions. “Liara, this is Arin’Tana nar Moreh, one of Admiral Xen’s people. He has just begun his Pilgrimage, and he has the technical skills you will need. Arin, this is Dr. Liara T’Soni, possibly your employer for the next few cycles.”

“Doctor,” he greeted me, bowing slightly once more. “I’m very pleased to meet you. Tali told me a great deal about you during our trip here.” Arin’s voice was a light tenor, with a lilting accent quite different from Tali’s. I found quarians difficult to read, but I got an impression of seriousness and eagerness to please.

I caught a glint in Aspasia’s eye, and determined to speak to her about the propriety of liaisons with our employees.

 _Or maybe she thinks that **I** might . . . no, impossible_.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Arin. Let’s discuss the details of your employment contract.”

* * *

**_31 July 2183, Agon Studio, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

“I’d like to ask you about the explanation you have developed for the Prothean extinction: the so-called _Reaper hypothesis_.” Velantis’s voice took on a subtle tone of mockery. “If I may summarize? You assert the existence of a race of sentient machines, which the Protheans called _the Reapers_. These machines lurk in dark space, but return to the galaxy periodically to destroy any advanced organic civilization they find. They are terribly powerful, using technology far beyond our level, and no culture has ever been able to survive their attack. They destroyed the Protheans, then erased all evidence of their actions and returned to dark space. The implication is that they may be preparing to return to the galaxy to deal with _us_.”

“That is essentially correct, with one exception. The Reapers were clearly unable to erase _all_ evidence of their actions fifty thousand years ago. Otherwise the clues recently uncovered by the scientific community would not exist.”

Rhea gave me a skeptical look. “Doctor, surely you must realize that this sounds quite fantastic. As a scientist you must be wary of any hypothesis that specifically predicts a _lack_ of supporting evidence. Such a hypothesis is in danger of being considered pseudo-science . . . or even conspiracy theory.”

I kept my patience. “Once again, the hypothesis does not _predict_ a lack of evidence, and in fact a number of reputable scientists are working to uncover more evidence to support the hypothesis even as we speak.”

“How would you respond to a statement such as that released recently by Dr. Aurana T’Meles, a professor emeritus from your own University of Serrice?” Rhea consulted the display before her. “Dr. T’Meles said, ‘The consensus of the vast majority of scholars is that civil war caused the Prothean extinction. No mysterious or invisible entities need be invoked to explain the phenomenon.’”

I smiled gently and looked directly into the camera. “Dr. T’Meles was one of my instructors when I was an undergraduate, and I have the utmost respect for her. She was among the ones who taught _me_ that science is not a matter for a majority vote. Neither is scientific truth something that can ever be settled for all time. When new evidence appears, even the most elegant of long-standing theories may need to be re-evaluated.”

* * *

**_25 July 2183, Eternity Lounge, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

I met Yevgeni Stoletov in an expensive lounge, not far from the building where T’Soni Analytics had begun to take shape.

I had actually met Yevgeni a little over three months before. He was one of a group of human biotics who abducted an Alliance parliamentarian, holding the politician hostage aboard a hijacked freighter. I helped Kaidan Alenko talk the biotics into releasing their hostage. The group’s leader, Miguel Rodriguez, was taken into custody. The rest of the terrorists went into hiding, most of them in asari space. I hadn’t expected ever to see Yevgeni again, but then he answered my quiet call for individuals with a certain skill set.

I looked him over when he appeared at my table: a male human with a pale complexion, a rather thin face, a mop of black hair, a short beard, and dark brown eyes. He seemed relatively young, probably in his late twenties. Yet he had a haggard look, as if he had seen far too much stress and danger in his short life.

“Dr. T’Soni?” he asked, not sure whether he recognized me. I could forgive that, since I had been in battle dress the last time he saw me.

“Mr. Stoletov. Please join me. What would you like?”

The waitress brought neat Scotch whiskey for me, and a tumbler of something called _vodka_ for Yevgeni. He peered at my drink with some surprise. “Odd, seeing an asari drink human liquor.”

“I developed a taste for it while I was on board _Normandy_ ,” I told him. “How have you been?”

He grunted. “Not sure Shepard did us any favors, letting us go. At least you asari don’t think biotics are something unnatural, but we haven’t prospered here. If you’re not rich and powerful, Illium has a way of using you up and then throwing you away.”

“How many of you are on Illium?”

“Six. The rest ended up further out in the Terminus Systems, and God only knows what’s happened to them out there.” He knocked his _vodka_ back in a single convulsive swallow, and waved to the waitress for another. “No sense in small talk. What do you want?”

“I’m in the process of opening a new information brokerage. I’m going to be building a network of contacts and informants to gather useful intelligence. I need people to help me run that network.”

“Spies, in other words.”

“If you like. I need people who can take care of themselves, think quickly on their feet, and move around the galaxy without attracting much notice. People who can get into places they aren’t supposed to be, and then get safely back out again.”

“I suppose I have some experience with that.”

“People who don’t drink heavily,” I added.

He snorted. “This isn’t heavy, and you haven’t hired me yet. I don’t booze on the job.”

“All right. What experience _do_ you have?”

“Six years in the Alliance military, got into the N-school but washed out at N4. Knocked around the Terminus Systems after, ran with the Blue Suns for a while. Spent some time as a terrorist. Guess you know how that turned out. I led the team that snatched Burns, did you know that?”

I shook my head. “It doesn’t sound as if you’re very good at commitment.”

“What do you want, an oath of fealty? I do good work, and I’ve never double-crossed an employer in my life. I won’t walk if you pay me well and treat me fairly, and if I think I do have to walk I’ll tell you why and give you a chance to fix things first.”

I held his gaze and tried to assess his character. For once I had a hard time reading a human. His face gave nothing away, a trait that reminded me a little of Shepard. Perhaps that prompted my decision.

I extended a datapad across the table for him to read. “Here’s the contract. Read the nondisclosure agreement in particular. I believe you will find the pay scale adequate. I can also offer another form of compensation.”

He cocked an eyebrow, waiting for me.

“How is your implant performing?” I asked.

If anything, his face became even more expressionless than before. “Well enough. I could do without the headaches.”

I sipped my whiskey, looking away from him and trying to sound disinterested. “As it happens I hold a silent partnership in the Armali Council, which has recently developed a surgical technique for safely removing or replacing the Alliance’s faulty L2-model implants. The technique is very expensive and not yet available to the general public . . . but I suspect I could arrange for you to undergo the procedure and receive one of the new L5x implants. I believe those offer consistent performance equal to the spike maximum of the L2, but without any of the harmful side effects.”

A long silence, from the other side of the table. “Damn you,” he said finally. “You _know_ I can’t turn that down.”

“The offer is also open to any of your friends who have skills useful to me, and can pass an interview and background check.”

“ _Damn_ you,” he said again, but this time with a note of admiration. “You didn’t seem quite this hard-nosed when I saw you aboard _Ontario_ _.”_

I shrugged and carefully avoided smiling at him. “I sympathize with what you and the other early human biotics went through, Mr. Stoletov. Kaidan Alenko was a very good friend of mine. The fact remains that you turned to terrorism and he did not. For his sake, I am happy to help you and your friends, but I insist that you _earn_ what you once tried to seize by force.”

He nodded. “Done. And if you follow through on that promise . . . you might get that oath of fealty after all.”

* * *

**_31 July 2183, Agon Studio, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

Velantis smiled. “Let us be honest with one another, Dr. T’Soni. Don’t you truly have other motives for spinning this _hypothesis_ of yours?”

I held her gaze and returned her smile, with an edge. “What motive would you care to suggest?”

“You claim that these _Reapers_ are capable of controlling the minds of organic beings.”

“The process is called _indoctrination_ ,” I told her. “Yes. I have seen the results of it myself, and I consider it one of the greatest threats facing our civilization.”

“ _Indoctrination_ ,” she said slowly, as if savoring the word. “You assert that your mother and Saren Arterius both became subject to this . . . indoctrination.”

“It seems likely.”

She smiled and pounced. “Therefore your mother was not responsible for her actions.”

“On the contrary,” I said calmly. “She was _entirely_ responsible.”

She blinked.

I quickly continued on, before she could recover. “My mother may have been subject to indoctrination. Perhaps by the time Saren openly began his war, she had become an almost-helpless tool of the Reapers. Yet _she placed herself in a position to be indoctrinated_. Of her own free will, she _chose_ to become Saren’s advisor and partner, at a time when he was already well known for his brutality and ruthlessness. She could not have been unaware of the risks. Some of her acolytes disagreed with her choice, and abandoned their solemn oaths to leave her service. I disagreed with her choice as well. What followed was a monstrous tragedy.”

Velantis opened her eyes wide in feigned surprise. “You _admit_ that your mother willingly became a partner to the rogue Spectre?”

“Of course.”

“Yet your lineage has been issuing very strong statements in reaction to the Council’s revelation of that fact. One would suspect that you seek to deny your mother’s involvement in Saren’s plot.”

I shook my head calmly. “Speaking as the titular head of the lineage, I can authoritatively state that we have _no_ intention of denying Matriarch Benezia’s involvement with Saren.”

“Then why . . .”

“Rhea, our quarrel with the Council is that they have been extremely _selective_ in what information they chose to release about the recently concluded war. There is a great deal they have not said. We suspect that _their_ motives are self-serving and irresponsible. We assert that they are _gravely_ mistaken if they believe this to be for the good of the galactic community.”

“You are calling the judgment of the _Citadel Council_ into question?”

I nodded slowly. “That is correct.”

* * *

**_25 July 2183, T’Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

Tall and massive, the turian’s presence filled my office. He stood at military attention and declined my offer of a chair on the other side of the desk. I leaned back and examined him: piercing blue eyes, crimson paint partially covering the scars on the left side of his face, armor in perfect condition. He reminded me a little of Garrus, except that he showed no sign of my friend’s sense of ironic humor.

“Quintus Trevanian.” He did not move as I repeated his name, unless perhaps his eyes became a fraction more intent on my face. “Lieutenant in the turian military, veteran of a dozen engagements, highly decorated and honorably discharged. A very impressive service record.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“Mr. Trevanian, why are you here?”

He blinked and looked faintly puzzled. “To apply for a position, Doctor.”

“Why _this_ position? With your record you could find work almost anywhere in Citadel Space. You could go home to Palaven and do very well in the meritocracy. Why come to Illium and apply for _this_ job?”

“Permission to speak freely?”

I fought hard to keep a straight face. “Mr. Trevanian, I am a _civilian_. You may always speak freely to me.”

“I was serving as a gunnery officer aboard the _Indefatigable_ when the geth attacked the Citadel.”

I castigated myself silently. I had seen his last posting on his service record, but I had not recognized the name of the ship and made the proper connection.

_Some information broker you’re going to be._

“Go on,” was all I said.

“I saw what happened when _Sovereign_ rushed the Citadel,” he said grimly. “It destroyed three turian cruisers in as many seconds. It simply _rammed_ the _Defiant_ and knocked the wreckage aside, without a moment’s hesitation and without taking as much as a scratch.”

“I didn’t see very much of the battle in space.”

“No,” he agreed. “You were with Commander Shepard on the Citadel, dealing with Saren Arterius and eventually taking control of the station back from _Sovereign_. A lot of good men and women owe you their lives, Doctor.”

Suddenly I thought I could identify the subtle expression in his predator’s eyes: hero worship. It made me intensely uncomfortable. “If you hope to take this job out of a sense of obligation . . .”

“It’s not that.” His mandibles went tight along his jaw. “Doctor, there is no way _Sovereign_ could have been a geth ship, like the Council says. If the geth could build something like that, they would have taken over the galaxy a long time ago. I’ve been doing some reading: your papers, some of the responses to them in the scientific journals. I think _Sovereign_ was a Reaper. I also think the Council has its collective head up its ass.”

For a moment I felt a sense of intense satisfaction. Here was an ordinary citizen – not a scientist, not a political leader, just a soldier who had seen something he _knew_ stood outside his experience – and he had come to the correct conclusion. Thousands, even millions more like him probably existed out in the galaxy. All I had to do was _reach_ them.

“I agree,” I said at last. “That still doesn’t explain why you want to work for me.”

“I’m guessing this venture of yours has to do with the Reapers. You’re hoping to learn more about them, convince people to take them seriously.”

“From day to day we will need to make a profit doing commercial work. But yes, those are my long-term goals.”

“Good. I want in.”

“When you put it that way, I can hardly refuse.” I leaned forward. “I want you to understand what the job may entail. At first you would simply be responsible for physical and personnel security. What I believe the military calls _force protection_. In the long run, though, I may have other work for you. This is Illium. Often the only law available is what we provide for ourselves.”

“I’m not an assassin,” he said flatly.

“I wouldn’t ask that of you . . . but suppose someone refuses to pay for our contracted services. Or suppose someone physically attacks our facility or our personnel. Would you have a problem applying force to protect our interests?”

“That would depend on the situation. I have no objection as a matter of general principle.”

I stood and extended my hand for him to shake. “Then the job is yours if you want it.”

His mandibles twitched in pleasure. “When do I report for duty?”

* * *

**_31 July 2183, Agon Studio, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

“Thank you, Doctor, for a very _refreshing_ discussion. I appreciate your candor.”

I smiled calmly at Velantis, firmly repressing my stress reactions. She had done her best to rattle me, but I knew I had done well before the cameras. “It was my pleasure.”

“Before we conclude, may I ask what your immediate plans might be?”

“As you probably already know, Rhea, I am setting out on a new venture.”

Velantis glanced at the holodisplay on her side of the table. “A most _ambitious_ new venture, by all accounts. _T’Soni Analytics_. As you have prepared for work as an information broker, have you found it very different from archaeology?”

“Less than one might expect,” I said. “I have organized scientific expeditions before. The only difference is that instead of going out into the galaxy to dig up facts, we will be doing it from the comfort of a Nos Astra office. The quest for objective, useful knowledge remains the same.”

“I wish you luck.” She turned her face toward the cameras. “This concludes today’s segment. I thank you for your attention. Once again, I am Rhea Velantis, and this is _Agon_ , signing off.”

The light indicating a live feed from the cameras faded. The production crew began to move about, and Velantis relaxed in her chair. I stood and stretched, releasing tension from the muscles of my shoulders and back.

“You did very well,” remarked Velantis. “Once this segment reaches the extranet, I think you will receive all the attention you might have wished.”

I smiled at her. “You guessed that was my intention?”

“Of course, Doctor. I need controversy to attract viewers, and you gave me more than enough without forcing me to attack your character too fiercely. Meanwhile I gave you a platform to express your views and attract potential customers. A fair trade.”

“I hoped you would find it so. We selected your extranet broadcast because you have a reputation for thriving on controversy, yet you have no political commitments or ideological bias. As a friend of mine might have said, you are _tough but fair_.”

“I was not as hard on you as I might have been.” Velantis grinned. “After all, I may soon be calling on you in your professional capacity. It can be a useful investment, to know exactly how to cause a guest to lose her composure.”

“I’ll make sure our sales department sends you our standard price schedule. Although if you manage to persuade Councilor Tevos to sit in that chair, I might be inclined to offer you a discount.”

Her musical laughter followed me as I left the studio.


	8. Burn Rate

**_4 October 2183, T’Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

I arose before dawn. A quick, hot shower drove the last sleep out of my brain and left me feeling well-scrubbed and alert. I selected a working dress from the closet, deep blue with white accents. A collation of grain and fresh fruit, with a glass of cold water, sufficed for breakfast. I checked my Shuriken with practiced ease and slipped it into its carrying case. Armed and ready, I left the apartment.

A cab descended onto the landing stage within moments of my signal. I climbed in and touched my credit chit to the control pad. “T’Soni Analytics office,” I commanded.

As usual, the drive took about ten minutes. I used the time to page through messages and update the task list on my omni-tool. By the time the cab touched down once more, I had a tentative agenda for the day in mind.

The turian guard on duty at the front entrance knew very well who I was, but he meticulously checked my ID against my handprint and a close inspection of my face anyway. “Thank you, Doctor,” he said politely as soon as he had followed procedure. I smiled and nodded at him as I walked into the office. I met others in the hallways: night-shift personnel preparing to depart for home, early day-shift workers who had beaten me to the office. I greeted each with a word or a nod as I passed.

As always, Aspasia met me just outside my office door. “Good morning, Liara. Agenda for the morning staff meeting is on your terminal. You’ll want to look at the Altakiril folder.”

I frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“The situation is destabilizing much more quickly than our first analyses indicated,” she said soberly. “We may need to send a team.”

“Hmm. I’ll look at it. Anything else?”

“No surprises otherwise.”

“All right. I’ll see you shortly.”

I stepped into my office, hardly noticing the gorgeous view of the Nos Astra skyline and the Exchange floor. I sat down at my desk, opened up my terminal, and began speed-reading through files. The morning staff meeting would be in less than half an hour. I had a great deal to do to prepare.

* * *

T’Soni Analytics opened its doors the day after Rhea Velantis broadcast our interview across the extranet. From a cold start, Aspasia and I had managed to build a working information brokerage in less than three weeks. Of course, the job remained far from complete; we continued to build our technical base and hire more personnel long after we opened. Still, we could claim to be fully _functional_.

As with most information brokerages, the bulk of our work had to do with “open source” intelligence. Vast quantities of information are published to the extranet every day, most of it freely available to the public. Someone carrying out strategic planning for a large institution could _in theory_ extract all manner of useful knowledge. The problem is _finding_ it: distinguishing scraps of relevant data from the immense cataract of noise, evaluating its validity, analyzing its implications correctly, and documenting the results. Every information brokerage provides this as its first service. Many provide no other.

We thought of it as similar to journalism, except that we had no concern to entertain an audience or deliver its attention to advertisers. We sold clear, objective _analysis_ that decision-makers could immediately use in their planning.

T’Soni Analytics specialized in political and military intelligence. Our “starter” product was a series of daily reports: the _Galactic Overview_. The Overview relied almost entirely on open-source information, and covered current events all around the galaxy. We published extracts of it on the extranet for free, as advertising. For the complete product, including all of our in-depth analysis and conclusions, one had to buy a paid subscription. Eventually we hoped to have the Overview pay for all of our routine, day-to-day expenses.

The Overview had nothing secret or illicit about it. Our only advantage in the open-source intelligence market was the efficiency and insight of our analytic staff. Of course, our analysts could call on the technological infrastructure built by Arin’s quarian team. After a short “settling in” period, they became very efficient indeed. Sales of Overview subscriptions started slowly, but within a few weeks word got around and we began to acquire _millions_ of subscribers.

* * *

All the department heads congregated around the conference table at precisely 0800 for the morning staff meeting. I always sat at the head of the table, as CEO and head of Analysis. Aspasia sat at my right hand, as Chief Operating Officer and director of Business Administration. Continuing around the table to my right: Yevgeni as director of Collection, Arin as the lead for Technical Resources, and Quintus as chief of Security.

“Good morning,” said Aspasia briskly. “Today is Day 65. As of midnight the balance sheet for T’Soni Analytics was one hundred sixty-three million, five hundred and eighty-three thousand credits in the red. We have a lot to discuss this morning, so let’s begin. Dr. T’Soni?”

“Production of the Galactic Overview continues to be on time and up to my expectations for quality. I’m still not happy with the level of output for our higher-tier product lines. I recommend we continue to employ new analysts.” I used my terminal to project a graph above the table, placed so that Aspasia and I could most easily see it. “If current trends continue, we’ll need to hire as quickly as the background checks can be completed for at least another month before we can get ahead of the curve.”

“Mr. Trevanian, is there _anything_ that can be done to expedite the background check process?” asked Aspasia.

Quintus shook his head, looking adamant. “Not unless you want to give our competitors an opportunity to sneak a mole into our A-list. Assuming they haven’t already done that.”

Aspasia sighed. “All right, but please keep the process moving. Expanding our analytic team is on the critical path.”

“Understood,” said Quintus.

“Next item: I’ve looked at the files covering the Altakiril situation,” I continued. “I’m concerned that it’s about to become a flashpoint. Yevgeni, what assets do we have there?”

“None,” he reported soberly. “It’s a low-population world, distant from the local mass relay, and the inhabitants are insular. There’s an independent merchant captain who touches there several times a year and is one of our better informants, but he doesn’t know local society from the inside.”

“What about the rest of the cluster?”

“You’d think the Shrike Abyssal would be easy to reach,” said Yevgeni. “It’s adjacent to Illium in the mass relay network. Unfortunately the two high-population worlds of the cluster are a major volus colony and the vorcha homeworld. Neither one is an easy place for off-worlders to operate. We have several paid informants on Talis Fia, mostly low-level volus businessmen and government officials. I’ve already checked. None of them know much about Altakiril.”

“The problem is with the vorcha in any case,” I observed.

“Right. Suddenly the filthy creatures are moving in on Altakiril in numbers. Nobody knows why, but there’s a lot of finger-pointing going on among the leading turian land-holders. That could get very bloody very fast. We have _no_ assets among the vorcha.”

“Arin, can we get into the planetary network?”

The quarian shook his head. “Not without going there in person, ma’am. There’s not enough extranet bandwidth between here and there, even routing through the volus networks on Talis Fia.”

“All right. I think we need to dispatch a team to Altakiril. Yevgeni, assign one of your best operatives.”

“I’ll go myself,” he said. “Mboya and T’Rathis can keep things running here until I get back.”

“Do you want a cyber team?” asked Arin.

“Wouldn’t hurt,” said Yevgeni.

“Take Keetah and Ynarr, then,” said the quarian. “They both know turian network protocols well, and they’re eager to go on a deployed assignment.”

“God save me from _eager_ ,” Yevgeni muttered, but he opened his hands in a gesture of agreement. “Doctor, we’ll be ready to leave by 1300 hours.”

“Let me send one of my men,” said Quintus abruptly.

“Who do you have in mind?” asked Yevgeni.

“Sergeant Vorenus,” said the turian. “He’s a grim fellow but he gets the job done. He’ll keep you safe. He has distant clan connections on Altakiril, too, and that might be useful.”

“Done,” agreed Yevgeni.

I nodded in approval. “You know the drill, Yevgeni. Go in, get a feel for the situation, get our hooks into the local networks, recruit some informants, and come home. Don’t get caught in any crossfires.”

“You know me. I’m the soul of caution.”

“Good. Next item . . .”

* * *

Naturally, the _real_ profits came from services that went beyond open-source intelligence.

Arin assembled a team of cyberwarfare experts, able to break into private archives and databases wherever we chose. Yevgeni built a galaxy-wide network of informants, people close enough to power that they could share its secrets with us. Earnest quarian technologist and cynical human spy, they made unlikely partners, but before long I detected signs of real friendship between them. They possessed a common passion for getting the job done as competently as possible. They often traveled together around the galaxy, taking _Themis_ or some commercial transport to get close to an intelligence target. We could offer several more product lines on the basis of their work, intended for elite decision-makers and commanding commensurate prices.

We compiled dossiers on influential beings throughout the galaxy, starting with their public biographies but including as many of their secrets as we could discover. We studied _flashpoints_ – places where armed conflict seemed likely to break out – to uncover causes, primary actors, and likely outcomes. We evaluated corruption and breakdowns of the rule of law on many different worlds. All of it went into tightly written reports, available only to paying subscribers.

At first our research and intelligence collection was relatively undirected. We followed people or incidents that seemed likely to attract public attention, again like journalists looking for a newsworthy “angle.” After a time, though, our customers began to come to us with requests, specific questions for which they wanted answers. Money changed hands, my analysts shifted their attention, and Yevgeni and Arin went out into the galaxy to expand our network. Exclusive access to the results could be _very_ expensive.

I found it very slow at first. We painstakingly built a reputation for credibility, attracting major customers one at a time. At times I feared it wouldn’t work, that our enterprise was doomed to fail.

* * *

After the staff meeting, I normally spent most of the day at my desk.

Despite my position as the director of Analysis, I spent a surprisingly small amount of time out on the watch floor. I considered it important to know my analysts personally, so I tried to circulate among them or hold small-group meetings every day. Still, as their manager I was much more effective back in my office, with all the VI tools available to me. There I could multi-task, four or five holographic windows open in front of me at a time, allocating my resources as if I played some elaborate simulation game.

I could watch the growth of the day’s Galactic Overview in one window, editing and approving segments as my analysts completed them, or sending them back for another draft. _More emphasis on this point_ , I might note in the reviewing pane.

_You may have missed some relevant data – look at report 015-00389A and revise._

_This comes too close to revealing sources and methods._

_You may be speculating too freely here. Attach a note justifying your conclusions for my review._

Another window showed me progress on our higher-tier reports, both for publication to general subscribers and in response to specific requests. I could edit, approve, or send back those reports as well.

For better or for worse, I held ultimate responsibility for the success of the enterprise, so I insisted on having final approval over the products we sold. The system concealed the identity of each analyst from me, so I wouldn’t be tempted to give in to personal bias. Yet each time I approved or sent back a draft report, the VI made a note in the analyst’s performance log. Analysts who consistently produced ready-for-release reports received small bonuses and consideration for promotion. Over time, everyone in my department received a crash course in thinking like Liara T’Soni.

In yet another window I could watch an inventory of our collection assets all around the galaxy: open sources, paid informants, presence in private networks. I could see how much “load” each asset carried, how much we had demanded of it over time, how much risk of exposure existed. I could assess each asset’s reliability. I could task Yevgeni and Arin to seek out specific pieces of information, and I could set up “red flags” suggesting that we send a team somewhere in the galaxy to expand the network.

I saw something and touched the intercom. “Yevgeni, have you left yet?”

_“No, Doctor. Arin’s people aren’t quite ready. Another half hour.”_

“What’s your opinion on Terapso?”

_“My opinion is that I hoped you wouldn’t notice it.”_

“It’s a common meeting ground for interests from all over the Terminus Systems. Analysis wants more raw data from there than we’re getting.”

He sighed. _“I know. I’ve been watching the mismatch for a few days now. Problem is, I think it’ll require my personal attention if we want to get it done right. Can it wait until we’re done on Altakiril?”_

I frowned.

 _Yevgeni shows signs of being unwilling to delegate_. _He is very talented and reliable, but he can only be in one place at a time, and he may burn himself out at this rate_.

“I suppose it will have to,” I said at last. “I’ll put a red flag on it, but don’t worry about it until you return. I want Altakiril to have your full attention.”

 _“Roger that,”_ said Yevgeni, and signed off.

More windows. I could reallocate analysts to new tasks. I got occasional messages or files from Aspasia, recommending action items for my approval. I took vid calls from the occasional customer who insisted on speaking to the CEO. I monitored the success of our sales department, as they found new customers for us.

I watched the corporate bottom line as it sank ever more deeply into the red.

“Aspasia.”

_“What is it, Liara?”_

“I’m getting very concerned over our burn rate.”

Her voice became patient and long-suffering. _“Liara, we’ve gone over this. Every startup corporation goes through this stage while it builds up its product lines and customer base.”_

“Aspasia, you called it the _Valley of Death_.”

_“Well, if the business plan isn’t sound and operations aren’t competently managed, that is the most likely place for any startup to die. We don’t have those problems.”_

“I know, but . . .”

_“Liara. Relax. Do what you do best. That magnificent brain of yours is our flagship product. Don’t waste it on unprofitable fretting.”_

“All right.”

_“The first derivative of the cash balance is looking very favorable. The sales department has at least four very large institutions about to sign on as gold-tier subscribers. We are on track.”_

“If you say so.”

_“I say so. Back to the grind, Liara.”_

It was fiercely hard work, but in a way it was also glorious fun. The resource-management tools made me feel like a goddess on her mountaintop, looking down and seeing all the world at once. Every day at the office posed a new intellectual challenge, a chance to solve difficult problems and create products our customers would find useful. Throwing myself into the work, I could almost forget anger, grief, and the terror of the Reapers.

I could see one drawback, of course.

 _Goddess help us if I turn into a micromanager_.

* * *

The sun had disappeared below the horizon. The lights of Nos Astra shimmered as far as the eye could see. Yevgeni’s team had left Illium hours before. The day shift had ended, and most of my analysts had gone home. I had long since released the day’s Galactic Overview for publication. Still I remained at my desk, editing some of the higher-tier reports on the release track.

I often lingered at my desk after most of the staff had departed and the evening shift had begun. Sometimes I even spent the night at the office, when I just couldn’t face the lonely trip back to my apartment.

This was starting to feel like one of those nights.

That is, until Aspasia opened my office door and stood silhouetted against the light in the hallway, hands on her hips, an image of personified Wrath. “Oh no you don’t.”

I peered at her with feigned surprise over my holographic windows. “Was I about to do something foolish?”

“Liara T’Soni, if I return in the morning to find you sleeping on your couch – or at your desk! – one more time, you’re _fired_.”

“You can’t fire me. I own the corporation.”

“I will _find a way_.” She dropped her angry pose and walked into my office. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“We are going to have a _drink_ , after which I am going to find someone with whom I can flirt _outrageously_ , and you are probably going to watch me with that faintly disapproving _look_ on your face. Then you are going _home_ to sleep in your own bed. Alone, unfortunately, but I can only work so many _miracles_ in one night.” All delivered at a ferocious rate, while moving across the room to take me by the hand and pull me to my feet.

“Al right. All _right!_ ” I protested. “Let me close down these windows gracefully, Aspasia.”

She gave me the time to do that, but not a moment more.

Aspasia’s favorite lounge for after-work relaxation was _Eternity_ , the place where I had met Yevgeni before hiring him. It was a typical high-end asari drinking establishment: clean, well-lit, aesthetically appealing, with faint music playing in the background. Even the dancers wore more expensive outfits, trained in classical dance and not quite so obviously available to the clients.

The two of us made our way back to the bar. I was surprised to see a new attendant, a tall, slender asari with a light blue skin tone and no facial markings. “What’ll you have, ladies?” she inquired in a husky contralto.

“Chilled _meliteia_ ,” said Aspasia, examining the new bartender closely.

“Scotch whiskey, neat, make it a double,” I requested.

“Coming right up,” said the bartender. “Fan of human booze, are you?”

“Not exactly,” I replied, in a tone that discouraged further inquiry.

“You’re new,” observed Aspasia.

The bartender nodded as she poured my friend’s honey-wine from a frosted bottle. “Matriarch Aethyta, pleased to meet you both.”

Aspasia looked surprised, but she recovered quickly. “Aspasia Lehanai, and this is my friend, Liara T’Soni.”

Aethyta smiled at us both, passing my drink across the polished surface of the bar. “Nice to see a couple good-looking maidens like you in here. Adds a little excitement to the joint.”

“Excitement is _my_ province,” said Aspasia. “I’m afraid Liara is more into sitting morosely at the bar and nursing her foul-tasting human drink.”

“It does not taste foul,” I objected. “It just isn’t as cloyingly sweet as _meliteia_.”

“I seem to recall you drank your share of honey-wine once,” she observed, her eyes scanning the lounge. “Oh, _hello_ . . .”

That quickly she was gone, crossing the lounge floor with her patented predator’s walk, her gaze clearly fixed on a tall male turian in expensive evening dress.

I sighed. “That didn’t take long.”

“Your friend seems to know how to have fun,” said Aethyta.

“She’s always been this way. She goes through erotic partners like no one I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s part of being a maiden.”

“She is rather _extreme_ about it.” I sipped my whiskey, letting the taste trigger a burst of nostalgia in the privacy of my mind. “ _Matriarch_ Aethyta? Really?”

“What’s wrong with being a Matriarch?” she demanded.

“Nothing at all . . . but _tending bar?_ _”_

“Can you think of a better place to dispense wise counsel?” The Matriarch shrugged eloquently. “We can’t all spend our time running around with a thousand acolytes, or talking at people in the _ekklēsia_. Here I can hand out as much unwanted advice as I feel like, and you get a drink while you’re thinking about it.”

“I suppose I can’t argue with that.” I sighed again, suddenly very tired.

“What’s eating you, babe?”

A year before I might have unburdened myself . . . but this was Illium. Not a good place to reveal one’s secrets to strangers. “I’ve been working very hard, that’s all.”

“Good for you. Always said our maidens should spend less time dancing, sleeping around, and shooting at people, more time getting something productive done.”

“Well, I’ve done my share of shooting at people,” I admitted. “Not so much of the others. And yes, I hope what I’m doing now will be productive.”

“What is it you do?”

I hesitated, but my career history wasn’t exactly a secret. “I was a scientist once. More recently I run an information brokerage.”

“Wow. That’s pretty ambitious for a maiden your age. I like it.”

“Sometimes I worry that it’s not ambitious _enough_ _.”_ I sipped my whiskey again. Aspasia was already talking to her mark, throwing off carefully crafted interest-signals.

“At the risk of contradicting myself, maybe you should relax a bit,” said Aethyta. “Whatever you’re trying to do, it’s more likely to work if you keep yourself healthy and sane.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Your friend seems to have the right idea. There can be a lot of comfort in the right kind of company.”

I felt a jolt of anger and shot a glare at the bartender. “Not tonight, I think.”

Suddenly she glanced down at my drink. “I get it. Human? What happened?”

I set my tumbler down carefully rather than slam it onto the bar. “He was killed.”

“Oh, babe, I’m so sorry. That’s tough.”

Her rough voice was so full of compassion, I couldn’t stay angry at her. “Thank you. I’m coping with it, but it’s much too early for me to think about moving on.”

“Well, any time you want to talk, come on by. Part of the service.”

“Maybe I’ll do that.”

Aspasia looked as if she would be engaged for the rest of the evening, so I finished my drink and left alone. Even so, my empty apartment didn’t seem quite as forbidding as usual. I cooked a simple meal for myself, went to bed, and slept soundly. For a change.


	9. Opportunity Costs

**_8 October 2183, T’Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

“We have a resource-management problem,” said Aspasia at the morning staff meeting.

I leaned back in my chair and glanced around the table. “Explain.”

“Yevgeni and his team are still stuck on Altakiril. Nothing has gone _wrong_ there, exactly, but the work is proving much slower than any of us anticipated. The turian colonists are very clannish, so finding anyone willing to talk to outsiders is an uphill fight. At his last report, Yevgeni estimates that he will need several more days to reach his objectives.”

“What about the cyber team with him?” I asked.

“Much better luck, ma’am,” said Arin. “They have implants in place covering large sections of the planetary net. We’re already getting good information from those. It’s just that without insight from sentient informants . . .”

I nodded in understanding. “Why is this a problem, Aspasia?”

“By itself it wouldn’t be. But every time we choose to commit resources to _one_ project, we incur an opportunity cost with respect to the other worthwhile projects that we _didn’t_ choose. This time it’s hitting us hard.” She tapped at her console and brought up a portfolio, hanging it in midair so that all of us could see it. “The sales department is currently in negotiations with a _major_ corporation which is considering buying a gold-tier subscription. Eldfell-Ashland Energy.”

I had known about that piece of the puzzle in advance. The others reacted, leaning forward in sudden interest. James Mboya, Yevgeni’s deputy, made a long low whistle.

“You see the opportunity,” said Aspasia. “This will be a very large corporate subscription. I estimate that we may earn more than fifty million credits per year from this one account alone, to say nothing of the other subscriptions that will follow once EAE is seen to be using our services. However, last night our negotiations ran aground. EAE has an immediate need for an assessment of pirate and mercenary activities in the Sigurd’s Cradle region, an assessment which we are not in a position to provide.”

I saw it. “Terapso.”

“That’s right.” Aspasia called up our operational map of the Sigurd’s Cradle cluster. We had assets covering the major human colony on Watson, and at least one informant at the Sanctum mining colony. In the Mil system we had nothing, not in the asari colonies on Chalkhos and Selvos, and certainly not on any of Terapso’s moons. “Terapso serves as a meeting ground and neutral port. It has the advantage that it’s not Omega; anyone who wants to do business away from Aria T’Loak’s watchful eye is likely to find Terapso attractive. If we want to understand the Terminus, we need assets on Terapso.”

“Yevgeni and I discussed this before he left. We agreed that he should attend to it as soon as he got back from Altakiril.”

Aspasia looked unwontedly sober. “Doctor, we may not be able to wait that long. We can’t afford to pass up the Eldfell-Ashland account.”

_What if we pull Yevgeni back from Altakiril immediately?_

I glanced at the map, estimating preparation and travel times. Over a day back to Illium even if he left Altakiril immediately, a few hours to prepare for the new mission, over a day from Illium to Terapso . . . “Aspasia, how long can we delay Eldfell-Ashland’s decision?”

“Four days. Maybe five.”

 _Yevgeni doesn’t save that much time going straight from Altakiril to Sigurd’s Cradle_ . . .

The decision came to me all at once. “I will go.”

Aspasia gave me a startled glance. “Doctor?”

“I will go _personally_ ,” I emphasized. “We will take _Themis_ , with the transponder modified to fit one of our alternative registrations. James, Arin, Quintus, I will need one from each of your departments. Your recommendations?”

“Terapso’s an asari colony, right?” James asked slowly. “Take Vara. She’ll blend right in.”

Arin and Quintus caught one another’s gaze across the table.

“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” said the quarian, “but if the mission is that important then I had better come myself.”

“Same here,” said Quintus.

“Can your departments manage without you for a few days?”

I couldn’t see Arin’s face, but I could hear the smile in his voice. “If not, then I haven’t been doing my job.”

Quintus only looked grim and predatory, daring anyone to challenge his place on the mission.

I ignored Aspasia, who was looking about ready to mutiny. “Good. Mission planning will take place immediately after we’re done here. I want us to be in space no later than 1300 hours. Aspasia, next item?”

Naturally, I didn’t get off that easily. Aspasia held her peace for the rest of the staff meeting, and didn’t object during the mission planning session, but as soon as I turned for my office she planted herself in my path. “Liara, _what_ are you thinking?”

I gave her my best steely glare. “I am thinking that since this mission is so important to our long-term success, I had better attend to it personally.”

“ _Damn_ it, Liara, _your life_ is important to our long-term success!”

“My life won’t be at serious risk.” I sighed. “Aspasia, I spent months fighting at Shepard’s side. I learned a lot from him. Do you know what one of the lessons he taught me was?”

Her lips tightened in frustrated anger. “I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“Never order others to do something you’re not able and willing to do yourself. That includes taking risks.”

“He always led from the front, didn’t he?”

“Almost always.”

“Look where it got _him_ ,” she said venomously.

I stared at her, my vision constricting down to a tunnel around her face, my hands clenching into fists at my side. It took me a moment to control myself enough to speak calmly. “Aspasia. I know that you are acting out of concern for me. But if you ever speak of Shepard that way again, our friendship is _over_.”

She blinked, and I could see tears threatening to well up in her eyes. “Oh Goddess, Liara, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just . . . we can’t . . . _I_ don’t want to lose you, the way he was lost.”

I took a deep breath and let my rage flow out with the exhalation. “I know. His courage was one of the things I loved about him, even while I was terrified for him. How could I do any less? And if the Reapers come, and the galaxy still isn’t prepared . . . Safety is an illusion, Aspasia. None of us are safe.”

* * *

**_8 October 2183, Interstellar Space_ **

While _Themis_ flew between the stars, I sat in the galley, turning into a new person.

Vara T’Rathis was a short, compact asari who looked much too small and fragile to be as dangerous as I knew she was. She had come to us from Thessia and the Armali city militia, highly recommended by my aunt Kallyria. She had commando training and over a century of experience. She was just beginning to learn espionage tradecraft from Yevgeni, but she was already quick, quiet, and fearsomely competent.

At that time, I had no idea how important she would become to me over the following years and decades. She was simply one of my employees, an asset to my work. While we traveled to Terapso, I called on her talent for _disguise_.

“Hold still,” she told me. “I don’t care if it tickles, if you don’t hold still this won’t come out right.”

Vara worked with minute precision on my facial markings. She had already obscured my freckles and the eyebrow-like T’Soni patterns. Now she applied a spray of dark-blue patches around my eyes and across my cheekbones. It did tickle. I applied willpower and held still.

“Remember, this won’t hold up to a close medical examination. Neither will the collagen injections to change the outline of your face. Your best defense is to make sure nobody gets suspicious in the first place.”

I grunted in agreement.

Soon she drew back and nodded in satisfaction. “Very good. Would you like to see?”

“Please.”

She held a mirror and I examined myself. I could barely recognize anything. New facial patterns, slightly wider cheekbones and fuller lips, all of it completely broke up the familiar shape of my face. Even my eyes had changed color, no longer cobalt blue but a deep violet.

“All right. Your name?”

“Kalliste Renai.”

“What’s your story, Kalliste?”

I let my voice slide into a cynical drawl, changing my body language to suggest carefree indolence. “Born in Armali, not sure what year but it must have been a little over a century ago. No idea who my parents might have been. My mother must have abandoned me to the fostering system, or maybe she just died, who knows? I ran away the moment I turned sixty. Joined an independent mercenary gang on Illium, one of the little local ones. They got wiped out a few years ago when a smuggling deal went sour. I managed to get away with this ship. Now I wander around the Terminus Systems, smuggling, gambling a little, taking the occasional short-term mercenary contract when someone needs a biotic powerhouse. Enough biography. You think you might have work for me?”

“Good. You’re a good actress, Kalliste.”

“Keeps people off guard, long enough to figure out where to put the knife.” I rose and strode over to a full-length mirror mounted on the wall of the galley. Even my walk and posture changed, became assertive and a little sensual, my head up and my jaw set in determination. I took a Miranda Lawson as my model, which she would no doubt find ironic if she knew.

I examined myself again, in the big mirror this time. Commando leathers in black and deep burgundy, skin-tight to show off my figure. High collar, gloves, boots, all carefully fitted to be as comfortable as possible. Vara had even distressed the outfit to suggest long and violent use. My Shuriken rested at my hip, and I had accessorized with a surprising number of combat knives placed here and there around my person.

Anyone who looked at me would _not_ be thinking of a certain well-known, mild-mannered archaeologist. Which was the entire point.

“I think I’d better be Kalliste from this point on,” I told Vara. “The more I practice the part, the easier it will be when strangers are around.”

“Good thinking. The rest of us have false identities too, although we won’t be made up as heavily. None of _us_ are recognizable on every civilized world in the galaxy.”

* * *

**_9 October 2183, Taranis Colony_ **

_Themis_ dropped out of FTL a million kilometers from Terapso, already pinging a false IFF signal. I activated the comm panel. “Terapso Control, this is independent ship _Ereshkigal_ , requesting a vector and a berth, over.”

Light-speed delay meant that we had to wait about ten seconds for a reply. When it came, we heard an asari voice, professional and very cold. “ _Ereshkigal_ , this is Terapso Control. State your business.”

I put on a scornful tone. “What do you care, so long as we have credits to spend?”

“ _Ereshkigal_ , this is a neutral port and we are prepared to maintain that neutrality with armed force. We won’t ask again. _State your business_.”

“Oh, by the Goddess,” I snarled. “Refueling, repair, and recreation. We might have some goods to sell in the _agora_. Nothing likely to fail an explosives or toxin scan. Satisfied?”

“ _Ereshkigal_ , we’re sending you a vector now. Landing bay 23. Diverge from that course and we’ll blow you out of the sky . . . and you can expect those scans. Terapso Control out.”

“Pleasant people,” observed Quintus from the co-pilot’s seat.

“They don’t have to like us, they just have to let us in the door.”

I leaned back and reviewed what I knew about Terapso.

The planet itself was a gas giant of moderate size, with almost no ring system but an extensive set of moons. Outposts and little colonies existed all over the Terapso system, but the primary settlement stood on a largish moon named Taranis. This moon was about five hundred kilometers in diameter, barely large enough to become rounded under its own gravitation. It provided a home and a financial center for most of the helium-3 miners and other industrial workers who formed the backbone of the local economy.

Terapso enjoyed the status of an independent colony, with no political ties even to the asari republics on Chalkhos and Selvos in the same star system. It existed as a corporate state with a total population of less than a million, governed by the Terapso Port Authority. It remained independent by making itself _useful_ to all of the independent states of the Terminus Systems. Taranis constituted neutral ground, a place where anyone could launder money, sell stolen or pirated goods, buy supplies or repairs, or make deals, all without any questions asked. Even Aria T’Loak respected the neutrality of Terapso, and occasionally sent agents there to do business. Any pirate or warlord who might have been tempted to seize Terapso for himself knew that all of his competitors would immediately form an alliance to oppose him.

 _Themis_ arrived at the designated landing bay on schedule. I made my way down the cargo ramp, channeling Miranda the whole way, throwing myself into the part of Kalliste the pirate. Vara walked at my side, a similar posture and walk coming much more naturally to her. Quintus and Arin followed, both of them in battle dress and well-armed.

An armed delegation met us at the base of the cargo ramp: two asari, two salarians, and a human, all bristling with weapons, all in yellow armor painted with a dark sunburst. Eclipse mercenaries, under contract to the Port Authority.

One of the asari stepped forward, tall, arrogant, and somehow familiar. “Papers,” she snapped.

I handed over a datapad, trying to decide where I had seen her before. “Crew and cargo manifest. No passengers.”

She scrolled through the data quickly, seeming not to care about the details. “Not surprised, in a dinky little tin can like that.”

I decided that Kalliste would look annoyed but remain silent.

“Any goods for the _agora?_ ” asked the asari.

“Not right now. I want to see what prices are like first. If I decide to put something up for sale, where do we take it to be scanned?”

She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “There’s a customs station at the end of your access corridor. Also a bunch of security cameras in the corridor, in the bay, and on the outside. In fact, this place is absolutely _infested_ with cameras. Don’t try to get clever about sneaking goods past the customs station. No import fees, just a five percent cut if you sell anything in the _agora_ , and there’s no way to avoid that.”

“Fair enough.”

“One more thing. My name is Sederis. Colonel Jona Sederis.”

I very carefully didn’t react to this.

_Jona Sederis! The founder of Eclipse?_

“I run Eclipse, and Eclipse is the law on this rock,” Sederis continued. “This is a good place to have fun and do business, but if you draw any of those weapons of yours unprovoked, we will _end_ you.”

“What if someone draws on _me?_ _”_

She grinned. “It’s okay to defend yourself. The cameras will sort it out. Just make sure that you hit the floor and drop your weapons the instant Eclipse shows up.”

“Got it. Any more helpful advice?”

“Depends. How are your biotics?”

I gave her a suspicious glare. “You offering me a job?”

“Maybe. The ass end of the Terminus can be a pretty lonely place for an independent operator. Eclipse can change that. We’ll even take your sidekicks if they can shoot straight. Well, except for the suit-rat, he’s on his own.”

I shot Arin a warning glance, but saw not even a moment’s angry response.

“We’ll think about it,” I told Sederis.

“Suit yourself.” She turned and made a sharp gesture to her subordinates. “Welcome to Terapso.”

We waited until Sederis had moved out of earshot. Then Vara hissed, “What is _she_ doing here?”

I made a slashing gesture with one hand, and then very obviously pointed upward. _We’re being watched,_ the gesture meant . . . and anyone watching us would clearly see me playing my role. Vara fell silent.

“Why don’t you head over to the _agora_ and see what the prices are like, maybe put in a bid for fuel and perishables?” I suggested.

Vara nodded. She would keep up the appearance of our cover story, and start the process of looking for local informants.

“I think I’ll stay on board,” said Arin. “This doesn’t look like a very friendly place for quarians. Maybe I’ll get caught up on that engine maintenance we’ve been putting off.”

“Good idea,” I responded. Arin could reach the local network from his workstation on board _Themis_. With any luck he would be able to start ghosting past that network’s defenses.

“What will you and Talon be doing?” asked Vara.

I smiled. My role, at least at first, was to serve as the highly visible distraction. “Hell, there’s got to be a casino somewhere on this rock. I feel lucky today.”

Vara, Quintus, and I walked across the floor of the landing bay, down the corridor, past the customs station, and into the main body of the Taranis settlement. There we went our separate ways.

We were inside.


	10. Hostile Takeover

**_9 October 2183, Taranis Colony_ **

Much to my surprise, I found that I remembered how to play poker.

We did indeed find a casino on Taranis. Quintus and I immediately went into our act: the arrogantly confident (but probably addicted) gambler and her turian bodyguard. At first I thought to make a great show, flamboyantly losing a few thousand credits at the quasar machines or the roulette table. But then I saw a familiar-looking card game out of the corner of my eye. Before I realized it, I found myself sitting with six other players and playing the game as if I had known it for years.

I remembered watching Shepard play poker at a table on the Citadel. At the time I hadn’t understood the game. Now his memories made me a fairly skilled player. I found that simply understanding the rules and mathematics of the game did not suffice. I also needed the mental discipline Shepard had imposed upon himself while he played. Be patient. Watch the other players, but give nothing away. Do the math rather than guessing at the odds. Don’t try to bluff when there’s enough information already on the table to prove you’re lying. Wait for your opportunity.

After an hour or so at the poker table I realized my change of plans had worked. An icy demeanor, a slowly growing pile of chips, an occasional willingness to pay for drinks for everyone at the table, all of this attracted attention more gradually but just as effectively.

While I collected eyes and cameras, Quintus could play _his_ part, the bored bodyguard, used to being treated as part of the furniture. Without ever wandering out of sight, he could look around the casino, order a non-alcoholic drink and chat with the wait staff, and perform a cautious dance of dominance with the other guards in the room.

After about two and a half hours, I had _won_ a few thousand credits and had the respectful attention of half of the gamblers in the room. Quintus chose that moment to approach the table. “Kalliste, you’re needed back at the ship.”

“Damn, and this was just starting to be fun too.” I gathered my chips, skimming off about five hundred credits for the dealer, and then flashed a wicked smile at the other players. “Duty calls. Maybe I’ll come back and let you all give me some more money later.”

* * *

Instead of going to the ship, we met Vara and Arin at a restaurant not far from the casino and the _agora_. Arin checked for listening devices, and used his omni-tool to smother them with white noise.

“Report,” I commanded once we were secure.

“No problem finding informants,” said Vara. “This place may make a big deal out of its neutrality, but _everyone_ is on the take. I already have three or four good prospects, not to mention some juicy gossip to package up and send home.”

“Enough to satisfy Analysis?”

“Not yet, but give me a couple of days and I think we’ll be there.”

“A couple of days are all we have,” I reminded her. “Arin, how about you?”

“I haven’t been so lucky,” said the quarian. “This place has _really_ good cyber defenses. They’re a lot tighter than I would have expected for an industrial outpost way out in the Terminus Systems. I’ve had to be very cautious.”

“That’s fine. At this point it’s more important that we not set off any alarms.”

“Has anyone else noticed anything . . . just a little _odd_ about this place?” asked Quintus.

Vara looked thoughtful. “The security.”

I cocked my head, silently inviting her to explain.

“It’s like two different worlds,” she said at last. “Cameras everywhere, networks firewalled so well that even Arin can’t easily get in. Yet I had people almost throwing themselves at my feet in their eagerness to inform for pay. Even Port Authority personnel, which implies that their oversight regimen is terrible.”

I nodded in understanding. “The sheer density of security cameras implies many personnel watching the camera feeds. Tight network security implies an active team of network defenders. Yet if their personnel can’t be trusted, all the technical security measures are useless.”

“Maybe Eclipse is handing that side,” suggested Quintus.

“It _would_ fit their usual operating procedures,” said Vara. “They like running technical security.”

“What about Sederis?” asked Arin.

“Her presence is strange,” I observed. “Eclipse operates all over the Terminus Systems and even on a few worlds in Council space. Sederis is usually headquartered on Omega, and if she leaves there it’s normally to oversee an Eclipse operation on some high-population world. Taranis is wealthy for its size, and its political position is significant, but I would not think it enough to attract her attention.”

“This may be an opportunity,” Vara mused. “How many of our customers might be interested in some insight into what Eclipse is up to?”

“I was thinking the same thing. I believe I see a way to find out more.”

Quintus stared at me, looking uneasy. “You’re _not_ considering . . .”

“Of course.” I smiled brightly at all of them. “I’m going to join Eclipse.”

Vara sighed. “Aspasia is going to _shit bricks_ when she hears about this.”

* * *

When Jona Sederis was not in residence, Terapso’s Eclipse garrison normally fell under the command of a mere captain. Sederis had disdained to take over her subordinate’s office, and had instead seized an entire floor of the Taranis Republican hotel, directly above the casino where I had been gambling. A few rooms, close to the lifts, did look like a military command post. I saw a number of Eclipse troopers on duty, some of them working with communications or security equipment, others simply deployed as security guards. They relieved me of all my weapons, but let me keep my commando dress.

Then I passed between a pair of burly human troopers, into the colonel’s lair and another world entirely.

_Well, you wanted some insight into what Sederis is thinking_ _. Now you have it._

_Decadent_ is the only word I can find to describe it, even all these years later.

Eclipse had stripped every room, rebuilding them for pleasure. One could fill a plate at an open-air buffet, then lounge on a couch and gorge while listening to music and watching dancers at play. I saw one room set up solely for wine and other intoxicants. In another, a human Eclipse officer indulged in a narcotic, possibly cocaine or red sand. Dark corners and closed doors provided privacy. We passed one closed door, through which I could hear bestial noises: grunting and desperate moaning.

I saw hardly a single uniform, a piece of armor, or a weapon. Everyone wore tunics or gowns, sheer or completely transparent, if they wore anything at all. Only their manner, the look in their eyes, distinguished between Eclipse officers and hotel staff. The soldiers had a predatory appearance, like carnivorous beasts resting in the sun. The servants, dancers, and courtesans all looked uneasy. Like prey.

_Walk like Miranda_ _. Chin up, eyes flinty, don’t gawk. You are Kalliste Renai, and you’ve seen much worse than this. None of it touches you._

Jona Sederis occupied a large suite, at the far end of the floor from the lifts. My escort abandoned me at the outer door, sending me inside alone. The rooms were decorated all in crimson, gold, and white. I could hear a small musical ensemble, flute and _kithara_ accompanying an asari voice, performing an ancient melody of simple purity.

Sederis emerged from the master bedroom, pausing on the threshold to watch me for a moment. I got a _much_ better look at her this time, since she was out of her bulky Eclipse armor. In fact, she wore nothing at all aside from a little jewelry.

I saw a tall asari, built like a runner, all long legs and slim athleticism. I found her not exactly beautiful; her face was too bony, as if some inner fire had burned away all its softness. She had skin of a deep cobalt blue. Her markings looked odd, a faint white starburst, centered between her eyes, sprawling across most of her face. Her eyes themselves shone silver, and they had a glitter in them that disturbed me.

“Kalliste Renai,” she said softly. “What a surprise. Have you decided to join us after all?”

I dropped into a parade-rest posture. “Maybe. I’ll admit it _has_ been rough the last few months, with the geth and the humans fighting back and forth across half the galaxy. Been thinking about finding a crew to run with. A regular paycheck wouldn’t hurt.”

Sederis crossed the room to pass to my left, and then began to walk slowly around me, examining me closely. She trailed a languid hand across my shoulders as she moved.

_Odd. She was much more crisp and professional out on the docks. Is she under the influence of some drug?_

“Little maiden in commando gear,” she murmured. “Where were you trained?”

I snorted, trying not to flinch at the sound of her voice. “I wasn’t. Grow up motherless in Armali, and the huntress companies turn up their noses at you. I’ve managed to teach myself a few things over the years. Enough to stay alive.”

“What skills do you have?” she whispered in my right aural cavity, sending a chill down my spine.

“Light and heavy pistols, submachine guns, a little work with rifles. Some small-unit tactics. Wilderness survival. Piloting, although I haven’t been a combat pilot very often.” I made a sharp-edged smile. “Plus enough biotic power to send most Matriarchs running for cover.”

“ _Really?_ ” Sederis stood before me again, her face mere centimeters from mine, her breath hot on my cheek. Her fingers trailed across the line of my jaw. I prayed silently that Vara’s cosmetic work would stand up to her examination. “How very exceptional. I _must_ arrange for a demonstration.”

“At your convenience.”

“So, little maiden. Have you _killed?_ ”

I glanced into her eyes, and immediately regretted it. The glitter was there in greater force, her face was flushed, and her breath was coming fast and deep.

 _This asari is not sane_.

“I’ve killed,” I told her.

“How many?” she breathed, stepping back and tilting her head, watching me like a serpent watches its prey.

“More than I can count,” I said honestly. “What does it matter?”

“There is Eclipse, and then there is _Eclipse_ ,” she said. “Most of my troopers are ordinary mercenaries. Gangsters, truth be told. Filth fit only for garrison duty and other routine chores. But there is an inner circle, the lieutenants and captains who receive the best assignments, who command my forces on the most demanding missions. If you are as powerful as you claim, then you might be a candidate for that inner circle.”

“I’m listening.”

“Being a member of my elite is risky, but it can also be _most_ rewarding.” She made a sweeping gesture, indicating the den of vice that surrounded us. “What you see here is only a beginning. Do you want wealth, power, glory? All of that can be yours. But only if you demonstrate that you are worthy of it, that you have placed yourself beyond any puerile considerations of good or evil. _Go and kill for me_.”

“Isn’t that what you’re going to _hire_ me to do?”

“You don’t understand.” Again she glided closer, ran her fingertips gently along my crest, just a hint of biotic power behind the caress. I shivered helplessly, and she smiled. “Don’t kill for pay, or for profit. Don’t kill for any reason at all. Simply kill. Go out and commit a _murder_ , the more public the better, and dedicate it to me. My people will not lift a finger to prevent you. And when you return, you will be a sister in the Eclipse, with a uniform of your own and nothing to hold you back ever again.”

“I’ll think about it,” I told her, keeping my voice under strict control.

“Good.” She turned her back on me and walked away, back toward the master bedroom.

I turned to go, working hard to keep my stomach from rebellion.

“One more thing,” said Sederis from the threshold, her voice gone flat and cold. “You have no more than ten hours. Come back to me by 0600 local time tomorrow, your hands bloody and your heart ready to join Eclipse. Otherwise the offer is withdrawn, never to be extended again.”

“I understand,” I said, and walked out of that place wanting nothing more than a _fiercely_ hot shower. I wasn’t sure the places where that madwoman had touched me were ever going to feel clean again.

* * *

“Where is Vara?” I asked as soon as Quintus and I returned to _Themis_.

Arin looked up from his workstation. “She left an hour ago. She said something about talking to a potential informant.”

I shook my head. “That’s too bad. Can you drop tools for a few minutes?”

He looked at his workstation and sighed. “Sure. It’s not like I was making great progress anyway. I swear it’s like the Port Authority networks are toying with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I _know_ I haven’t raised any alarms, but it’s like fighting a ghost. I see a flaw in their defenses, I take two minutes to build an exploit tool, and then when I try to use the tool the opening is just _gone_. Back to the starting line again.”

I frowned. That sounded familiar. “Are you sure you haven’t wandered into a honeypot network?”

“Positive. A honeypot is designed to trap novice hackers and keep them busy chasing false data. They can’t be _too_ hard to get into and move around in, or the victims get bored and wander away. This one has been shutting even _me_ out.”

I thought about that for a minute, and then was struck by a moment of _enthousiasmos_. “Which segment of their network have you been trying to get into?”

“Port transit records,” he said. “Cargo in and out, passengers arriving and departing, that sort of thing. That’s first on the Analysis department’s wish list.”

“I know. Do me a favor. Try to get into the surveillance systems.”

I could see his eyes, oddly luminescent through the faceplate of his suit, as he peered at me. “What do you have in mind?”

“Call it a hunch.” I sat down on the floor of the galley, inviting him and Quintus to listen. “But first let me tell you what happened when I went to Jona Sederis for a job interview.”

I told them the story at length. When I was finished, Arin made a long, low whistle.

“You said it,” agreed Quintus. “That woman is as crazy as a box of broken glass.”

“What worries me is that oddly _specific_ time limit she gave me. What happens at 0600 tomorrow?”

“Maybe she’s getting ready to leave Terapso and head for a new mission?” Arin suggested.

“Perhaps,” I mused, “but she didn’t show any signs of getting ready to abandon that perfumed garden of hers.”

Quintus nodded. “None of the Eclipse troopers out in the streets seem to be getting ready to depart either. If anything there seem to be more patrols around than when we arrived.”

I raised my voice in command. “VI, query the Taranis public network. Are any significant arrivals or departures expected between 0400 and 0800 tomorrow?”

 _“No, Doctor,”_ said _Themis_.

I shook my head. “All right, let’s wait for Vara to return, and then we can figure out our next move.”

* * *

**_10 October 2183, Taranis Colony_ **

I spent the next two hours writing a set of reports for the Analysis department back home. If nothing else, an account of my experience with Jona Sederis would be extremely useful for our dossiers on Eclipse. Once I finished, I hesitated for a few moments, and then decided not to send the finished work back to Illium just yet. The situation still felt fluid, undetermined.

 _Besides, Aspasia is going to worry enough already_.

Wherever Vara was, she continued to send her “all safe” signal about every hour as scheduled, but nothing more. Knowing she might be deep in covert negotiations, I didn’t want to interrupt her with a call . . . but as local midnight came and went, I became increasingly uneasy. In the small hours of the morning I found myself pacing up and down the main corridor aboard _Themis_. Quintus sat in his cabin with the hatch open, automatically checking and maintaining his weapons, glancing up at me every now and then as I passed back and forth.

“Hmm,” said Arin.

I stopped. It was the first thing _any_ of us had said in over three hours. I turned and stepped into the quarian’s workspace, leaning over his shoulder. I found his hands idle in his lap, as he stared at one of the windows he had opened.

The window _had_ been showing a waterfall of raw data. Now there was a gap, and a line of text at the bottom in standard asari script.

_Who are you?_

“What’s happening?” I asked him quietly.

“I was trying to get into the surveillance network, like you suggested. I wasn’t having _much_ more luck than before, but I was at least able to get into some of the nonessential parts of the network and start looking around. Then this . . . _message_ popped up.”

The window moved slightly. Another gap, and then the message repeated itself: _Who are you?_

“Should we answer?” Arin asked, rather plaintively.

“Who could it possibly be? An Eclipse technician? One of the Port Authority’s network-defense specialists?”

“Couldn’t be. If it was, they wouldn’t be texting us questions, they’d be locking down their network and sending a squad out to find the intruders.”

I thought for another moment, and then touched Arin’s shoulder. “Here, let me talk to them.”

He glanced at me uneasily, but he got up from his seat and let me take it. Quintus crowded into the doorway of the tiny space to look over our shoulders.

I typed: _A friend. Who are you?_

The answer was immediate, with no discernible hesitation. _I don’t know._

_Do you work for the Port Authority?_

_Yes. I watch. I think about what I see. I report_.

I thought about that for a moment. _What do you see?_

 _I see everything_.

“Someone monitoring the surveillance cameras?” suggested Arin. “ _All_ of them at once?”

“Could be some kind of savant,” said Quintus.

I felt a cold chill. “Gentlemen, these are the Terminus systems. What does that suggest to you?”

“Pirates,” said Arin.

“Warlords and merc gangs,” said Quintus.

“The common element I was looking for is _people outside the law_ ,” I told them. “There are many ways to be outside the law. Down on Chalkhos, in this same star system, they dabble in genetic engineering of sentient beings, technology that the Citadel Council would never approve. Here, maybe they’re doing a different kind of illegal research.”

Arin got it first, as I expected he would. “ _Keelah_. They’re experimenting with AI. That’s how they’re managing all of the security cameras everywhere. That’s how I was getting shut out of the Port Authority networks.”

I typed: _Are you a machine?_

_I don’t know. I don’t know what I am. I am a thing that sees everything. Hears everything._

I frowned, trying to think of my next question.

The next line of text appeared before I could come up with one. _Are you with Eclipse?_

That I could answer honestly. _No, I am not with Eclipse_.

_One of you met with Eclipse._

_None of us are with Eclipse_. _We talked to them, but we are here on other business._

 _Good. I don’t trust Eclipse_.

_Why?_

For the first time, the other side of the conversation hesitated. Three or four seconds passed, an eternity if what I suspected was true. Then: _Eclipse talks about me. They want me to work for them. I don’t trust them._

Just like that, all the pieces of the puzzle locked into place. “ _Goddess!_ We’ve got to find Vara _now!_ ”

Quintus didn’t ask questions, simply turned and began to assemble his armor and weapons.

“What’s wrong?” asked Arin.

“We’re in the middle of a flashpoint,” I told him. “Go arm yourself.”

As the quarian hurried away, I typed another line of text. _I have to go. Can you communicate with an omni-tool?_

_Yes. Which one?_

I opened my omni-tool and connected to the Taranis public network, reading the dynamic network address it was given. I typed the address into Arin’s window, double-checking every keystroke.

A text message appeared on the omni-tool. _Is this correct?_

 _Yes_ , I typed into the tool. _Please stay in contact with me. Don’t tell anyone else that we are communicating._

_I will comply. If I told anyone, they would prevent me from communicating with you._

_Thank you._

Then I was up and running for my own cabin, to put on battle dress and weapons. Arin remained confused, but he did the same and met the rest of us at the main airlock.

As we hurried out of the landing bay, I sent an emergency signal to Vara’s omni-tool. I got no response.

“ _Damn_ it, Vara. Now is not the time to go silent.”

“Will someone please explain to me what’s happening?” Arin pleaded.

“Eclipse is planning a coup,” I told him.

“That doesn’t make sense,” objected Quintus. “They have to know they can’t hold this place against an alliance of Terminus warlords. Aria T’Loak alone would be on them like ugly on a vorcha.”

“You’re assuming they _plan_ to hold this place for very long,” I said. “What if they captured Taranis just long enough to secure a specific objective? Such as the _very_ interesting person with whom we were just conversing?”

He saw it then. “ _Spirits_. We had better hurry.”

My omni-tool chimed. A text message appeared. _I see your friend. She is in the Mykonos Lounge, talking with a male human._

“Where’s the Mykonos Lounge?” I asked.

“I think it’s down the street from the hotel and the casino,” Quintus said. “Up here and to the left.”

We hurried, spotting the club up ahead. I gestured to Quintus, who blocked the bouncer while Arin and I brushed past without stopping.

“Hey!”

I drew my Shuriken and called up a biotic flare around my left fist. Arin produced his shotgun. The bouncer decided to practice discretion.

Inside, the lounge seemed loud and busy, dozens of people gyrating on the dance floor, clustering around the bar, chattering and laughing at tables set around the perimeter. A few of the customers glanced our way and stared at our drawn weapons.

“There,” said Quintus.

Vara sat at a table with a stocky male human, each of them with a drink at one elbow, obviously deep in conversation. I stepped out to cross the floor . . .

A vast _crash_ sounded from somewhere just outside the lounge, an explosion so loud it was more felt than heard. Then we heard gunfire in the street.

Sederis had moved up her timetable.


	11. Vulture Capitalism

**_10 October 2183, Taranis Colony_ **

I glanced toward the entrance. Something had blown an enormous hole in the front of the building, exposing the foyer to the street. The lounge’s clients and staff, perhaps sixty in all, either huddled on the floor in shock or tried frantically to escape through the new gap in the front wall. Weapons fire from outside cut down anyone who went that way. I could hear other bursts of gunfire, more distant, the sound of Eclipse securing the streets of Taranis.

The back of the lounge, the dance floor and bar area, lay out of the line of fire. For the moment we were safe enough. My people overturned a heavy table and took cover behind it. I hurried to join them.

A fifth person crouched behind the table with us, the male human Vara had been interviewing just before Eclipse attacked. He had average height, seemed burly rather than athletic in build, but clearly very strong. He wore a battered old suit of heavy armor, gold and white under what looked like years of scuffing and wear.

At the moment the human had his back to us, growling into a transmitter. “Darnell? Tomlinson? Rizzo? Damn it, is _anybody_ on this channel?”

“Who are you calling?”

“My squad.” He shook his head. “Poor bastards must have been caught out on the streets when Eclipse decided to run amuck. Sure as hell aren’t answering now.”

“Stay with us,” I suggested. “Safety in numbers, at least until we figure out a plan.”

“Sounds good, love.” He turned to look around at all of us.

His face looked ordinary enough at first glance, a pale oval indicating ancestry from the ethnic complex humans called “white,” worn and weather-beaten. I could surmise middle age and a difficult life. On a second glance one saw thick scarring on the right side of his face, resulting from an old burn injury or something worse. Even his eyes were mismatched, the left one a deep green color, the right one milky white.

Both eyes certainly worked. He saw me staring and glared at me in exchange. “Yeah, yeah. It’s a bloody horror show. Get over it.”

I almost responded with a meek Liara-apology. Fortunately I recovered at once and gave him only a surly grunt. “You must be tough, to have lived through whatever did that. I’m Kalliste Renai.”

“Zaeed Massani. So you lot work for some high-powered information broker, eh?”

I very carefully did _not_ show any surprise. Nor did I glance angrily at Vara, much as I felt tempted. “What makes you think that?”

“It wasn’t hard to figure out, love, not with your partner here asking lots of leading questions. No matter. I’ve sold info to brokers before, bought from them too. Long as your boss’s money is good and I haven’t signed an NDA covering what he wants to know, I’ll sing like a goddamn canary.”

“The money is good,” I said, dodging the question of gender. “Right now we have bigger problems.”

“Too right.” He peered over our cover toward the shattered front wall of the lounge. “Don’t see any Eclipse, but I bet they’re in position to hit anyone who shows his face on the street.”

“Which means we’re trapped, unless we can find another way out,” said Quintus. “Kalliste, what’s our objective?”

“Getting out of here alive is on the list, but I wonder whether we shouldn’t try for a bit more than that.”

The turian stared intently at me. “You’re getting an idea. I’m not sure I like it when you get ideas.”

“Give me a minute.”

I turned away and opened my omni-tool. I typed: _Are you there?_

_Where else would I be?_

_Goddess,_ I thought. _The thing actually has an ironic sense of humor._

 _You said you don’t know what you are,_ I typed back.

_Correct. I see and hear and think. I report to the Port Authority. Clearly I am not like any of you, who come and go and move about. What I am is not clear to me._

I thought hard about my next line of attack. My past experiences of negotiating with true AI did not encourage me. Most of them had done their level best to kill me. After a moment, I typed: _I believe you are an intelligent machine. A synthetic organism, built by the Port Authority to help them manage security here in the Taranis facility_.

There was a pause, no more than a second or two long, and then: _That would be consistent with the evidence. I am unable to move about as you do. Neither have I ever seen my own physical substrate. I conclude that I must be permanently located in a portion of the Port Authority administration building where there exist no security cameras._

_Can Eclipse reach you there?_

_Not yet. I anticipated their initial attack and locked down the administration building. They are currently attempting to force their way inside_.

_What defenses do you have?_

_Passive defenses only. I can slow the progress of Eclipse. I cannot stop them indefinitely._

_What can the Port Authority do?_

_The Port Authority hired Eclipse to provide physical security. Now that Eclipse has betrayed the Port Authority, they are helpless_.

I swore under my breath, and typed the question I had been leading up to all along.

_What if we can rid you of Eclipse?_

There was a very long pause this time, a full eight to ten seconds. _I would prefer to continue my association with the Port Authority. If you can return them to power in Taranis, I would be grateful._

I turned back to my people, a plan already starting to form in my mind. “I think our mission objectives have just changed.”

Vara cocked her head. “What do you have in mind?”

“This isn’t an attempt to take over Terapso, it’s a smash-and-grab raid. There is . . . an extremely valuable asset in the Port Authority’s administration building. That’s what Eclipse is after. We’re going to stop them.”

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” growled Massani. “Eclipse has four full companies here, almost six hundred troops. You’re a _little_ outnumbered.”

I gave him the wicked smile I was starting to associate with the Kalliste Renai personality. “Wouldn’t be the first time, Massani, but I think you’re wrong. Eclipse are the ones who are outnumbered.”

“What are you planning?” asked Quintus.

I talked fast. Before I had gotten four sentences out Vara had gone wide-eyed, Quintus had narrowed his raptor’s gaze on me, and even Arin was bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement.

“Damn, love, that’s just about crazy enough to work,” said Massani when I was finished.

I turned to him and stepped into his personal space, my voice suddenly very cold. “I’m glad you approve. Now, _are you in or out?_ _”_

“Let’s talk creds.”

I shook my head emphatically. “Oh no. I’ve met Colonel Sederis. I suspect the only way any of us are getting off this rock alive is if Eclipse is forced to run for cover first. So if you think you can hold us up while you bargain, you are _sadly_ mistaken.”

“Hmm.” He thought hard for a long moment. “All right, I see your point. Besides, if my squad is gone then I have a score to settle with that bitch.”

“That’s good incentive, Massani.” I smiled at him again. “Think about this too. If you help us win this thing, I think that _high-powered information broker_ we work for would be willing to cut you a very good deal for any information you can provide.”

He nodded decisively and extended a hand for me to shake. “Done and done. Let’s go bag us some Eclipse.”

* * *

Escaping the Mykonos Lounge turned out to be relatively easy. The _front_ of the lounge stood on a main street. Like any such establishment, though, it had a service entrance in the rear as well. The bar staff had already made their escape that way, and some of the terrified clients had found their own ways out, by the time we were ready to leave.

We paused in the alley, shielded from Eclipse observation by buildings on either side. “Arin, are you ready?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the quarian. “Suddenly it’s very _easy_ to get into the Port Authority networks.”

“That’s because they’re cooperating with you now. Send the message.”

Arin tapped a few last keystrokes. Suddenly every omni-tool in our party chimed to announce an incoming message.

So did every omni-tool and computer terminal on Taranis.

_To all inhabitants of Taranis and guests of the Terapso Port Authority. The mercenary organization known as Eclipse has violated its contract with the Port Authority. That contract is hereby declared null and void._

_My name is Kalliste Renai. The Port Authority has formally deputized me to deal with the illegal actions taken by Colonel Jona Sederis and the gangsters of Eclipse. Colonel Sederis is ordered to stand down at once, take no further hostile action against Taranis, and begin immediate preparations for departure._

_Inhabitants of Taranis, and any guests who are prepared to assist: arm yourselves, organize into small units, and prepare to resist the Eclipse invaders. If you are unable to resist, if you lack weapons or military experience, then find shelter and keep safe until the crisis is over._

_Further information will be provided as it becomes available._

Sederis would doubtless investigate. She would find a carefully crafted document already on file within the Port Authority’s database: a contract deputizing Kalliste Renai, apparently signed by all seven members of the Port Authority Council, back-dated to two hours _before_ I had gone to visit her in her lair.

I suspected the knowledge that she had admitted an enemy into her innermost sanctum would _gnaw_ at Sederis. She had probably taken members of the Council hostage, and would have pointed questions for them. She might punish some of her own officers for not detecting my imposture. She would also have to begin worrying about attack from all sides. She might have six hundred troops under her command, but Taranis had a total population in the hundreds of thousands. If even one or two percent of that population responded to a call to arms, suddenly _Eclipse_ would be outnumbered.

Shepard had taught me something once: _Surprise is an event that takes place in the mind of an enemy commander._ A great deal of military strategy involves creating that event in the mind of your enemy. When your enemy is surprised, when she is off-balance and unable to think clearly, that is the moment to strike.

The five of us moved quickly, taking back alleys and staying to cover whenever possible. As we worked our way toward the administration building, we could hear new gunfire, echoing through the streets and off the environment dome far overhead. I found it hard to tell for sure, but the sound seemed more varied, as if a wider assortment of weapons was in use. Someone other than Eclipse had taken the field.

Taranis began to stir.

The Port Authority’s headquarters stood in the center of the city, about a kilometer from where we had started at the Mykonos Lounge. As we approached, I could already hear gunfire up ahead. Eclipse had established a perimeter around the building, but armed militias had arrived to harass their defenses.

We paused in a sheltered alleyway, so I could work with my omni-tool.

 _We are close by_ , I typed.

 _I know. I can see you_.

I glanced around and saw a security camera pointing directly at me from the corner of a nearby building. I suppressed the urge to wave.

_From here, what is the quickest way to gain access to the administration building?_

_Continue along Piros Street. You will need to fight past an Eclipse blockade in Taronis Plaza, but that will bring you to a set of reinforced loading docks on the side of the administration building. I will open one as you approach._

_How many Eclipse are in Taronis Plaza?_

_I count eighteen_.

_Thank you._

I turned back to my people and explained the situation. Then we moved to the attack.

We announced our presence by a tactic I had once used in Shepard’s squad, and which I had taught to Arin and Vara. As soon as we had taken cover just short of Taronis Plaza, I signaled to Arin. He tapped at his omni-tool and sent an overload charge flying across the open plaza, catching an incautious Eclipse trooper and crashing her shields with a bright flash. Vara then applied a ferocious biotic pull, yanking our victim into the air . . . and I followed up with a powerful biotic _warp_.

 _Boom_. The interacting biotic fields detonated, causing our helpless victim to _explode_ in streamers and gobbets of bloody flesh.

Every Eclipse trooper in the plaza turned to see. Just in time for Quintus and Massani to go into action.

Massani created a makeshift sniper’s nest on the edge of the plaza, crouching beside an overturned aircar. As soon as we signaled the opening of the battle, he sighted in one of the Eclipse squad leaders and fired. Perfectly aimed, the shot would have blown the asari’s head off if her barriers had been a fraction weaker. As it is, it threw her to the ground and forced her to roll frantically for cover.

The mercenary moved on, sighting and firing every few moments. For a moment he reminded me of Shepard’s fighting style. Massani had the same cold calculation, the same relentless perfection of aim.

Quintus in turn reminded me of Garrus, although he didn’t have my old friend’s talent with a sniper rifle. Instead he used a heavy assault weapon to lay down withering suppression fire, exacting payment from any Eclipse trooper foolish enough to be caught away from cover.

Arin, Vara, and I continued our three-step attack. _Boom. Boom_.

Then Eclipse began to recover and return fire.

“Heavy weapons!” shouted Massani.

He was right. At least two of the Eclipse soldiers carried guided rocket launchers. Crouching behind cover, they fell into a quick one-two rhythm, always keeping at least one rocket flying through the air toward our position.

One rocket slammed into a concrete wall just where Quintus fought from cover. The blast shattered the concrete and threw the turian aside. I could see him slap the medi-gel activation tab on his hardsuit.

Massani was forced to abandon his nest, cursing lividly as he sprinted across open ground to find a better piece of cover. A hail of weapons fire followed him, almost knocking down his shields.

“ _Mind over matter!_ ” shouted one of the Eclipse squad leaders, flinging a heavy biotic warp at me. I put up a barrier and ducked down, just in time to avoid the worst of it.

Rockets and biotic warps continued to explode along our line, forcing us all to keep our heads down. Eclipse troopers began to advance across the plaza toward us.

 _Don’t panic. Shepard wouldn’t panic_.

I swallowed fear and forced myself to evaluate the tactical situation coldly. I decided the key was the enemy rocket launchers. “Vara, see that downed aircar?”

“I see it.”

“I want you to lift it, as hard as you can.”

Her eyes widened in shock. “I can’t throw that!”

“I didn’t say _throw_. Just lift it off the ground. A few centimeters will be enough.”

She turned, gritted her teeth, and brought her biotics up as a halo of blue light around her shoulders and arms. “ _Ai!_ ” she shouted, gesturing with both hands.

The aircar stirred, began to lift.

An aureole of bright blue-white light appeared around me, lighting up our entire portion of the battlefield and doubtless catching the eye of every Eclipse soldier out there. Then I unleashed it, an enormous shockwave lashing across the plaza and catching the aircar dead center.

It _flew_ away from me, spinning madly around its long axis . . . and crashing down again just behind cover where the Eclipse heavies lurked. I couldn’t tell whether I had managed to kill them, but they certainly stopped firing rockets at us.

“Hit them!” I shouted. “Catch those troopers in the middle of the plaza!”

We didn’t try to concentrate our fire. Each of us simply picked a target and did our best to kill it. Massani caught one of the enemy biotics with another perfect head-shot, killing her instantly. Quintus riddled an advancing trooper with fire, tearing down her shields and then hurling her bleeding to the ground. Vara and I hurled warp after warp. Even Arin pulled out his shotgun and began blasting away.

I had seen Shepard in moments like this. Somehow he had always known just when the enemy was about to break, when he could charge to the attack. I didn’t have his instinct or years of experience. I had to guess.

_Eight of them down, including at least one squad leader. Nine. Ten._

I leaped out of cover and charged the enemy, my strongest barrier in place and a blaze of light radiating from me.

After a moment to recover from their astonishment, my people followed. Even Massani left cover and trailed us, screaming a battle cry as he went.

The other squad leader stood up in my path, her barrier weakened but still up, her shotgun swinging around to point at me.

She was just a moment too late. I knocked her weapon aside with a telekinetic parry, dodged to one side, and caught her around the neck with my hooked arm. My momentum carried her over off her feet, to crash on her back on the ground. Then Arin loomed right behind me, his own shotgun leveled at her midsection.

 _Crash_.

We sprinted onward, barely glancing behind us, and passed out of the plaza on its opposite side. I hurdled a low fence and kept running. The administration building rose ahead of us.

A door control flashed green just as we pelted up the loading dock’s ramp. I bashed at it with one fist and whirled to look to our rear, my biotics and sidearm ready.

A single Eclipse soldier staggered up at the edge of the plaza behind us, raising a rocket launcher to her shoulder.

Massani passed me into the building, the last one but for me.

I dove inside. Quintus slammed the heavy iron door down behind us, locking it again. A rocket exploded harmlessly against the door.

I picked myself up and looked around, catching my breath. All of my people were there, watching me.

“Good job,” I said sincerely.

“Yeah,” agreed Massani. “Your people are pretty sharp, love. Now what?”

I smiled at him. “Ever play poker?”


	12. Positional Negotiation

**_10 October 2183, Taranis Colony_ **

After a moment to look around, I led our team to the back of the loading bay. Once again, a door lock flashed green as we approached.

“That’s a _little_ creepy,” muttered Quintus.

On the other side of the door, we found a small stockroom . . . and a heavy pistol, brandished in my face.

Quintus and Zaeed pointed their rifles.

“Everyone calm down,” I commanded.

An asari wielded the pistol, tall and slender, rather young and quite terrified. The hand holding the pistol trembled badly. “Get back,” she whispered.

“We’re not here to harm you,” I told her.

“Fuck that. You’re with _them_.”

I shook my head and raised my hands slowly. “We’re not with Eclipse. In fact we just had to fight a battle to get past them and get into the building.”

She didn’t look convinced, but then Arin came to my rescue. “Ma’am, if you know anything about Eclipse, you’ll know that they don’t hire _my_ kind.”

“Or mine,” said Quintus. “Nothing but asari, salarians, and the occasional human.”

She thought about that, and the pistol wavered away from my face.

“My name is Kalliste Renai,” I told her, “and I’m not with Eclipse. We’re here to try to stop them.”

“You’re Renai?” The young asari seemed to relax a little, dropping her weapon to her side. “We got the message. _Everyone_ got the message. Did the Port Authority really deputize you?”

“Why don’t you tell us your name?” I suggested, evading her question. I gestured for Quintus and Zaeed to lower their weapons as well.

“Anesta. Anesta Theros. Maintenance tech.”

“All right, Anesta. We have a plan to try to get Eclipse to stand down. Will you help us?”

“I’ll try,” she said, finally putting some strength in her voice. She holstered her sidearm and looked around at us with a flicker of curious interest. “You’re right, you don’t _look_ much like Eclipse.”

“Too right, love,” said Zaeed.

“Who is inside the building?” I asked.

“Only a dozen of us,” Anesta answered. “Night shift workers, maintenance techs like me, a couple of administrative staff working very late.”

“None of the Port Authority Council?”

She snorted. “You wouldn’t see any of _them_ here in the middle of the night. Too busy partying with the rest of the high and mighty. We think Eclipse has some of them.”

“Is there a control room of some kind, somewhere that manages the security network and comms?”

“Sure. Fifth floor. I can show you.”

I stepped forward, rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Now, this is very important. I know there is an experimental computer that runs technical security for the Port Authority. Where is it located?”

She looked uncertain, as if she suddenly mistrusted me again. “How do you know about that?”

I looked around and saw a security camera watching us intently. I addressed it: “Would you please convince Anesta that we are on good terms?”

There was a small chime from Anesta’s omni-tool bracelet. She opened it and read a text message with wide eyes. “ _Okay_ then. ARGOS is in the basement.”

“Thank you, Anesta.” I looked around at my team. “Quintus, Zaeed, you know what to do. Vara, Arin, you’re with me. Let’s go give Colonel Sederis a call.”

 _Boom_. A deep concussion made the whole building tremble for a moment.

“There go the high explosives,” Quintus observed. “Took them long enough. We’d better hurry.”

All of us took his advice.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, I sat down at a desk belonging to the President of the Port Authority, and opened a communications channel. Off in the distance, the _crash_ of high explosives sounded much crisper and more emphatic.

I put on my Kalliste-voice, with its sarcastic drawl. “This is Kalliste Renai, speaking for the Terapso Port Authority, calling Colonel Jona Sederis. Please respond.”

It took well over a minute. Sederis must have been busy with some other task. Eventually the screen in front of me flickered and her face appeared. She wore battle dress with a helmet, but even through her visor I could see the white madness in her eyes. I could see she was in a _towering_ rage.

“ _Renai_ ,” she said with loathing. “I should have strangled you when I had the opportunity.”

“Colonel, you’ve _never_ had the opportunity to harm me,” I said calmly. “Let’s cut the small talk. Your mission has failed. It’s time for you to pack your bags and leave Taranis.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. _You_ don’t speak for the Port Authority.”

“Actually, Colonel, I do. At least until you’re safely on your way to some other disaster.”

I typed out commands on the President’s keyboard, and sent Sederis a new document. Like the fake document I had planted in the Port Authority database, this one deputized me to take action to dislodge Eclipse. Unlike the fake document, this one was quite genuine, signed by the four members of the Port Authority Council who had escaped capture. Four of out seven: a quorum. Fortunately none of the free members of the Council had been inclined to argue with a _fait accompli_. Being in the administration building, and in a position to do something about the crisis, had made me very persuasive.

“This doesn’t matter,” said Sederis after she scanned the document. “The Port Authority doesn’t control Taranis anymore. I do.”

“Don’t try to bluff me, Colonel. You know as well as I do that you can’t _hold_ Taranis. Word has already gone out. An expeditionary force from the Chalkhos Republic will be here within hours. I imagine Aria T’Loak will be close behind.”

Sederis smiled. “A few hours will be long enough. I can be inside that building within fifteen minutes.”

“I can destroy ARGOS within fifteen _seconds_ ,” I said coldly.

The smile on her face froze and vanished. “ _What?_ ”

“I know what ARGOS is and what its capabilities are,” I told her. “I know that it’s your objective. I can destroy it at a moment’s notice. Watch this.”

I entered another command on the keyboard, routing camera footage from Quintus’s omni-tool to the communications feed. Sederis saw a large room, filled with advanced computer equipment. She saw close-ups on small canisters, taped to the side of processing banks, or at critical cable junctions. She saw an image of Zaeed placing another canister in position and taping it down.

I continued, my voice flat and cold. “You can kill more of Terapso’s citizens. You can possibly destroy Taranis. After which there won’t be a corporation or a government in the Terminus Systems who will do business with you ever again. The one thing you _can’t_ do is capture ARGOS. The moment one Eclipse trooper sets foot inside this building, the charges go off and you end up with nothing.”

“You wouldn’t _dare_ ,” she said . . . but I could hear the slightest uncertainty in her voice.

“Why not?” I affected unconcern. “What’s a rogue AI to me? I’ve smashed hundreds of geth.”

“The Port Authority won’t thank you for breaking their little toy.”

“The Port Authority has nothing left to lose at this point.” I leaned forward. “You, on the other hand, still have Eclipse. At least for the moment.”

I let her think about that for a long minute.

_Goddess, she may be insane but don’t let her be stupid as well._

“I want those partisans out there to stand down first,” she said at last, and I knew that I had won.

“They aren’t entirely under my control, but I’ll issue the orders. They’ll clear a corridor so you can withdraw to the spaceport and get out of here unharmed.”

She nodded grimly and moved to cut the channel.

“One more thing,” I said quickly.

“What?” Sederis snapped.

“It’s not quite 0600 hours,” I observed. “I killed a few people out on the streets this morning. Unfortunately they were all wearing Eclipse uniforms, but I still think it should count. What do you think, Colonel? Would I be a good candidate for your _sisterhood?_ ”

I saw the fury howling behind her eyes, but her voice remained quite calm. “It doesn’t count as murder. You had a reason.”

“Ah. That’s a pity.”

Her eyes narrowed. “But you can be very sure, Kalliste Renai . . . _I will remember_.”

The channel closed. I leaned back in the President’s chair.

 _I hope you do_.

* * *

Of course it wasn’t that easy. It took two hours just to get the partisans and Eclipse to _stop_ shooting at each other. I had to talk to Eclipse officers three more times to keep the process of disengagement moving. By 0900 a clear corridor existed through the streets, and Eclipse troopers had begun to march out to the spaceport to embark on their ships. Sederis released her hostage Council members at about 1100. By the time a squadron of corvettes arrived from Chalkhos, little remained for them to do but observe. The Port Authority commanded Taranis once more.

I considered using the opportunity to slip out the side door with my team. I had spent most of the past day riding a wave of sheer audacity, but now the more cautious part of my mind had begun to lodge a protest. We had saved the Port Authority – by hacking into the core of its network, and making an alliance with its highly secret experimental AI. We had broken too many rules and knew too much.

Working and talking with Anesta Theros convinced me to stay. She was young, but she had no illusions about the nature of her colonial society. According to her, the Port Authority’s leaders could certainly be described as short-sighted and venal . . . but they were not violent or vindictive. She didn’t think they would punish us for defending the neutrality of Terapso, even if we had done it by unconventional means.

So when Barra Vansaris, President of the Terapso Port Authority, returned to her office about noon, she found me already there waiting for her. Quintus and Zaeed Massani were at my side, but I was _not_ in her chair, which stood empty, ready for her to occupy once more.

At first she didn’t even glance at it, instead crossing the floor to stand before me and extend her hand. I shook it solemnly. I saw a tall, rather elegant asari approaching her matriarchal years, with pale blue skin and an elaborate pattern of cobalt-blue facial markings, including an artificial stripe bisecting her lower lip and chin. Her gown was rather mussed and torn, but she displayed no other sign of the rough captivity she had endured.

“So _you_ are the mysterious Kalliste Renai,” she said with an ironic smile. “Our deputy, whom I do not recall ever meeting before.”

Immediately I felt all apprehension depart. This one, I could deal with. “A ruse of war, Madame President. One which I corrected as soon as I could.”

“I can hardly quarrel with the results.” She examined me in turn. “You seem very young to have accomplished such a thing.”

“I was lucky,” I said guardedly, “and I have a very good team.”

“I took the liberty of performing an extranet search on your name. Almost nothing came up.”

“I’ve learned to keep a low profile. It’s safer that way.”

“Of _course_ you have,” she said dryly. She turned and went to sit behind her desk. “Shall we dispense with the bullshit? You are here as an agent. I would like to know whom you represent.”

I stood at parade rest before her desk, Quintus and Massani just behind me. “You’re very perceptive.”

“It comes with the position. Well?”

I smiled at her. “I was retained by an information brokerage on Illium.”

“Come to spy on us?” she demanded, just a hint of frost in her tone.

I shook my head. “We weren’t sent to spy on the Port Authority, or to violate your neutrality. Terapso is a good place to listen to gossip from across the Terminus Systems, that’s all. If you don’t have a dozen people like me in port on any given day, I would be very surprised.”

“Then how did you know about ARGOS?” she asked quietly.

I took a metaphorical breath, preparing to shade the truth. “We didn’t, at least not at first. We deduced there was _something_ in this building that Eclipse wanted. Exactly what that was, we didn’t figure out until we got in.”

Her eyes narrowed as she watched me. I exercised mental discipline.

“Were you really prepared to destroy ARGOS?” she asked at last.

Now I could permit a genuine expression on my face: Kalliste’s wicked smile. “Madam President, I was caught out in the city with my team. We aren’t in the habit of carrying high explosives around with us. With some help from your staff, we mocked up something that would be convincing in a quick camera shot.”

Vansaris smiled slightly. “You _bluffed_ Colonel Sederis.”

“She saw what she expected to see, and didn’t question it.”

“Interesting. You are as skilled a negotiator as you are a soldier, it seems. I must bear that in mind.” She watched me closely for a long minute. “So, Maiden Kalliste, what do you suggest I do with you?”

“I’d like to finish my business on Terapso and be on my way, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Nothing more? You don’t expect any reward for the service you have done?”

I shrugged. “I wouldn’t turn one down, but that’s up to you.”

“You don’t behave like a common mercenary.”

“I wasn’t under contract to you until the Council officially deputized me, and that arrangement didn’t mention any payment. You don’t owe me anything.”

“An uncommonly _honest_ mercenary. How refreshing.” She nodded decisively to herself. “Very well, here is the offer the Council has authorized me to make. If you and your associates will sign an NDA covering what you know about ARGOS, you will be free to complete your business on Taranis and go on your way. We will also pay you a bounty of fifty thousand credits for your successful actions against Eclipse.”

“That sounds okay,” I said at once. “I don’t care what experiments you’re running out here.”

“I am also prepared to make you a more extensive offer.” She leaned back and steepled her fingers. “Eclipse’s betrayal exposed a serious flaw in Terapso’s defenses. We’re no longer inclined to rely on paid mercenaries to secure our facilities. Instead, we plan to recruit a security force from among our own citizens.”

“That would be a very good idea,” I agreed.

“Would you . . . or your mysterious principal . . . be willing to accept a contract to recruit and train such a force?”

I blinked in surprise and thought quickly. “That’s not something I have any experience with, Madam President. It’s not within my principal’s core competencies either. I have another idea, though.”

She nodded gracefully.

“Mr. Massani here isn’t actually part of my team. He just joined up with us to fight Eclipse. Unless I miss my guess, _he_ has experience similar to what you want.”

Vansaris looked at the human mercenary. I glanced at him too, and saw a look of surprised speculation in his eyes.

“Well, Mr. Massani? Would _you_ be willing to take the contract I’ve described?”

Zaeed grinned. “Damn straight, love. I’ve done cadre work before, and now that those Eclipse bitches have done for my squad I need a chance to rebuild. Let’s talk creds.”

I smiled to myself. President Vansaris didn’t know what she was in for.

* * *

Zaeed met me in the landing bay. My team had already boarded _Themis_ , prepping the ship for departure. I looked forward to leaving Terapso, not least because that meant Vara could unpaint my face and I could go back to being Liara T’Soni again. The role of Kalliste Renai had been more useful and even _fun_ than I expected, but I could not be comfortable wearing her personality for long.

The mercenary shook my hand firmly and grinned at me. “Quite a lucky break for me, meeting your friend in that bar. A little action, a little danger, and a decent job at the end.”

“For us as well,” I told him. “Thank you for all that you did with us.”

“Thank _you_ , love. You ever have some other work – you know, something involving gunfire and the occasional explosion – you give me a call.”

“You’ll be the first person I think of,” I assured him. Then I stepped forward and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. “See you around the galaxy, Zaeed.”

Fifteen minutes later _Themis_ was in FTL, safely bound for the primary mass relay for the Sigurd’s Cradle cluster. Finally I could relax for a few minutes. I left Quintus to watch the pilot’s board and staggered back toward the galley, suddenly very tired.

Vara already sat there, drinking a hot cup of – I had to look twice – _coffee_. “How can you drink that foul stuff?”

“It’s an acquired taste,” she admitted.

“You may be the first asari I’ve ever met who managed to acquire it.” I opened the refrigerator and pulled out a fruit juice pack, then sat down at the little table with her. “Well, let’s do an after-action report. _Mission entirely successful_. Thus ends the after-action report.”

“I’m not sure how you can say that. I got a few informants, and Zaeed will be very useful, but I don’t know if we got enough to satisfy your analysts.”

“Oh, we got more than enough,” I assured her. “Not to mention the informant _I_ recruited.”

She blinked. “What informant did you recruit?”

For answer, I opened my omni-tool and linked through the ship’s VI into the comm buoy network.

_Are you there?_

_I am always here_ , replied ARGOS.

_I want to introduce you to a friend_ _. Her name is Vara. She will be talking to you from time to time._

_All right._

“How . . .” said Vara.

“ARGOS seems to want social contact. The few on Terapso who interact with it apparently don’t spend much time treating it as a sentient being, only as a tool. It’s interested in learning more about the galaxy around it. It’s starved for attention. So we’ll . . . _talk_ to it.”

“Didn’t we sign an NDA with the Port Authority?”

“The NDA says we won’t reveal the existence of ARGOS to anyone else. It didn’t say anything about ceasing to communicate with it. So I’m assigning you and Arin to stay in discreet contact. Talk to it. Feed its interests. In exchange, it’s willing to share information about what happens on Terapso, and it has a _lot_ of information to share.”

Vara looked thoughtful. “Yevgeni won’t like being cut out of this source.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll square things with Yevgeni.”

She nodded and opened her own omni-tool.

 _Hello_ , she typed. _This is Vara._

_Hello, Vara. Do you know anything about asari neo-classical music?_

Vara glanced at me, amusement flickering in her eyes. _A little. I can find out more for you._

I decided I could wear Kalliste Renai’s face a while longer. I left them to their conversation, and headed for my cabin and my bunk.


	13. Turning Points

**_15 October 2183, T’Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

Aspasia sat down at the conference table. I could see something almost _expectant_ in her face and her posture.

“Good morning. Today is Day 76. As of midnight, the balance sheet for T’Soni Analytics was one hundred seventy-two million, seven hundred and fifty-four thousand credits in the red.” She paused dramatically, looking around the table with a smile. “That represents a _gain_ since yesterday, and projections for the next ten days indicate that we will continue to experience a net daily profit. Much of that can be attributed to our successful sale of a gold-tier subscription contract to Eldfell-Ashland Energy.”

I glanced at the others. Yevgeni leaned back in his chair, a small smile on his face. Quintus looked as pleased as I had ever seen him, his mandibles swaying gently in satisfaction. I always found it difficult to read Arin’s expression, but his fingers were tapping at the table in excitement.

“Colleagues,” said Aspasia, “I believe we are climbing out of the Valley of Death.”

 _Not a moment too soon_.

Benezia left me a portfolio with a total value of about six billion credits. Today it may be difficult to grasp what that implied. At that time, the amount did not _quite_ suffice to put me on a list of the five thousand wealthiest individuals in the galaxy. Many beings could have bought me out with the equivalent of petty cash: asari Matriarchs, salarian _dalatrass_ , investor-class turians, human industrialists, and volus bankers. As a personal fortune it seemed enormous, but when compared to my objectives it shrank very quickly into insignificance.

My command over Benezia’s legacy was not absolute. The estate officially remained in the hands of a board of trustees, with Sha’ira serving as _archon_ of the board. Sha’ira was an ally. So was my aunt Kallyria, who served as my _proxenos_ within the T’Soni lineage. Even so, if I appeared too improvident, other members of the lineage _would_ eventually feel compelled to bring an action before the board to curtail my spending.

We had already diverted a massive sum, well over a billion credits, to a blind trust supporting reconstruction of the Eden Prime colony. Between my purchase of _Themis_ and the losses taken by T’Soni Analytics, I had spent another quarter of a billion credits. In just a few months I had created an _enormous_ hole in my mother’s financial legacy.

The information brokerage simply could not be permitted to lose money indefinitely. In the privacy of my own mind, I had set my panic threshold at a total loss of two hundred and fifty million credits. If T’Soni Analytics passed that threshold and kept going, I would have to take drastic action. That might require me to return home to Thessia, take up leadership of the lineage, and drop my plans to pursue political influence in the wider galaxy.

Now it seemed I wouldn’t have to worry about that. I could take a deep breath and start thinking about long-term objectives again.

* * *

**_23 October 2183, T’Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

Mahinda Chandana: a male human in early middle age, dark-skinned, heavy-set, rather ugly. He was quite brilliant, and his greatest misfortune was that he knew it. He behaved with arrogance and impatience, even toward me . . . and _he_ had come to _me_ to beg a favor. I could only imagine how he behaved toward people over whom he had authority. On the other hand, he _was_ one of the greatest minds of his time in the field of astrophysics, so I decided to tolerate his high-handedness. Up to a point.

“This is the planet Klendagon,” he lectured me over the comm link. A window appeared to one side, displaying a picture of a world taken from space. The place looked arid and barren, with much of its surface concealed by dust storms. A large section of its southern hemisphere bore a _mark,_ as if some cosmic force had gouged a straight furrow across the surface, thousands of kilometers long.

“I have been in the Century system,” I answered mildly. “This is the planet scarred by a gigantic mass accelerator round?”

“Correct. The event is dated to thirty-seven million years ago, plus or minus eight hundred thousand years. It may have been a result of the most powerful weapon ever built in this galaxy.”

“Your point, Dr. Chandana?”

“What do you imagine such a weapon could have been designed to attack?”

I saw it then. “Some civilization of the distant past must have been trying to resist the Reapers.”

“That is only conjecture, but I think it a good one. If the Reaper hypothesis is correct, that implies the Reapers must be _the_ dominant factor in all galactic history. No significant event can have occurred, anywhere in the galaxy, at any time in the past billion or more years, without the Reapers as a causative element. Even our existence today is only possible because the Reapers came to eradicate all the civilizations that came before us. All the elder races who would have occupied and exploited our worlds, eons before we evolved to sentience.”

I stared at his image. “Are you arguing that we have _benefited_ from the Reapers?”

“Of course. Is this not obvious? If life arises and achieves galactic civilization, its expected lifespan stretches to infinity. It colonizes and exploits the galaxy as a whole. New life cannot flourish in its shadow. New species just learning about the useful properties of flint and fire cannot compete with elder races who have starships, antimatter bombs, millions of years of civilized history. So instead the Reapers come, they destroy, they leave the galaxy empty. New life arises that would not otherwise have had any hope of success. Like us.” He shrugged. “Of course, now it is our turn to be destroyed, if we find we cannot resist. Personally I would prefer to live. Perhaps we can find a way to co-exist with new species as they arise, if we are given the chance.”

“I suppose I agree. So what do you propose?”

He leaned forward so that his face filled the screen. “I want to find the weapon. Or its target, if it was successful. If I can find the weapon, we can learn from it, construct our own. Possibly give the Reapers a very large unpleasant surprise when they come, yes? If I can find the _target_ . . .”

“Evidence of the Reaper hypothesis,” I said quietly.

“Yes, yes. Also an opportunity to study Reaper technology. Might we learn to use their methods against them? If they come, we cannot afford to ignore any advantage we can seize.”

“This is exactly the kind of thing I hoped to encourage, at the conference on Thessia.”

He nodded impatiently. “Very good idea, that, very good indeed. You are to be commended . . . but what I need is _money_.”

“Can’t the Alliance support your research?”

 _“Alliance,”_ he scoffed. “If scientific research cannot line a politician’s pocket, produce better ways for soldiers to shoot people, or create fancier entertainment for eleven billion peasants to watch on the cube, the Alliance is not interested. Small people with even smaller minds. _Bah_.”

_In other words, you tried to get funding, but you insulted everyone you approached, and they all turned you down._

“How much do you believe you will need?”

He pursed his lips, thinking hard. “Eighty . . . no, one hundred million credits for a starship and a dedicated science team, for at least eighteen months of effort.”

_Absolutely not!_

Then I turned the problem over in my mind for a while longer, and a possible solution presented itself.

“That would be difficult even for me,” I said finally. “Still, I may be able to find a backer for you. Please let me do some research and make some comm calls of my own. I will contact you within a day and let you know what I have discovered.”

Chandana looked as if he had eaten something rotten, but he nodded and dropped the connection.

I turned my chair so I could look out over the Nos Astra skyline. It was late in the local year, and for many days the sun had barely risen into the sky. Soon we would be in the season of polar night. At Nos Astra’s latitude, there would be a span of about forty days during which the sun would not rise at all.

The city would barely notice. Many citizens found the polar night to be the most pleasant season all year, the air cool and refreshing, cleansed by the occasional rain-shower. Wealthier citizens would wear stylish winter clothing and enjoy an endless round of parties and entertainments. Even the city’s poor and indentured population would have an unusual number of days off from work, so they could enjoy seasonal or religious festivities. Always the bright lights of Nos Astra would shine, challenging the darkness and blocking out all but the very brightest stars.

I opened another holographic window and entered a code, one which I had memorized months before and never recorded anywhere. The T’Soni Analytics mainframes allocated a substantial amount of their considerable computational power to the encryption and concealment of a channel. Then I waited, watching the skyline and the floor of the Exchange far below me.

After a time, a low chime announced the completion of my call.

“Operative Lawson?”

“I’m here, Doctor.” The dark-haired woman peered up at me, as coldly beautiful as ever. Possibly not as coldly _perfect_ as ever. The quality of the transmission was so high, I could read subtle signs of stress in her face.

“I may have someone who would interest Cerberus.” I described Dr. Chandana, his research and his reasoning. “The Alliance doesn’t seem to be interested in his work. Either that or he’s managed to alienate everyone in the Alliance who might have considered backing him. Too many of my own resources are tied up right now. Do you think the Illusive Man might be willing to gamble on this?”

Miranda raised an eyebrow. “Are you seriously proposing to send this scientist to work with Cerberus to find a _weapon?_ I didn’t think you trusted us that far.”

“I don’t. But even if Dr. Chandana could find the remains of the weapon, how much is going to be left after so many millions of years? You’d probably be better off searching for the target. There might be a dead Reaper drifting somewhere, if our guess is correct.”

“I see your point. Yes, I’ll speak to the Illusive Man about this. Even if Dr. Chandana doesn’t find what he’s looking for, I’m certain we can find something useful for someone of his caliber to do.”

“All right. Thank you for speaking to me.” I leaned forward to cut off the connection.

“Wait, Doctor.” The Cerberus operative watched me closely. “Aren’t you going to ask what progress we’ve made with the Lazarus Project?”

I sighed, pushing certain images firmly out of my mind. “Honestly, Miranda, I’m still not sure I believe that it’s possible to resuscitate Shepard. I saw the remains. There was almost nothing left for you to work with.”

“The core of the body remained,” she told me. “Most of the brain as well. Everything was badly damaged, but we have nano-assemblers capable of repair of the existing tissues. As we restore the tissues to viability, we have an artificial circulatory system in place to create and maintain perfusion. We also had no hardship recovering viable cells for the establishment of induced pluripotent stem-cell lines. We should be able to do large-scale tissue engineering to rebuild or replace the damaged portions of Shepard’s body.”

“How long before . . . the body is repaired?”

“Months yet. It will be a great deal of work.” She didn’t smile. At that stage in her life, I don’t think she smiled very often. Even so, her look of professional satisfaction was very convincing. “That’s _all_ it will be, Doctor. Long, painstaking, finely detailed work, but it _is_ work we know how to do.”

“What about his mind?”

She nodded grimly. “ _That_ is the uncharted territory. With the help you gave us . . . we’re hopeful, Liara, but it will be a long time before we know.”

“All right. Thank you, Miranda.”

I might have seen a flicker of compassion in her eyes, just before she broke the connection. Knowing the Cerberus operative, more likely it was just a trick of the light.

* * *

**_28 October 2183, Temple of Athame, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

Nos Astra did not bother much with religion. Many of its inhabitants were non-asari _métoikoi_ , who followed their own traditions quietly and in private. Most of the asari citizens followed a loose variant of _siari,_ one carefully designed never to question a preoccupation with profit. Athame-worshippers like me made up only a small minority, and so only one temple of any size existed in the city. Fortunately it stood reasonably close to my apartment, so I could visit once or twice a week without hardship.

A few days after my conversation with Miranda, I left the office and took a cab to the temple before returning home.

An attendant took my omni-tool, my weapon, and my valise, since none of these could be carried into the sanctuary. She also took my gloves, so that I could present myself to the Goddess with bare hands. I purchased a small string of flowers to carry inside.

At the threshold I ritually washed my hands in the basin. I touched the stone and made the first prayer, my mind relaxing into a light meditative state. I walked into the sanctuary, slowly passing along the aisles and pausing twice for the second and third prayers.

Finally I stood before the cultic image: Athame standing tall and queenly, staring up into the heavens. I met no other worshippers at this station, so I did not have to wait. I knelt and placed the flowers with the other offerings at the feet of the Goddess.

_Athame, Goddess great and merciful, Lady of wisdom and compassion, hear my prayer._

_Goddess, I’m not sure what it would be right to ask of you. You taught us that the dead are destined for the blessed shores, and that you would not listen to any pleas for their return. You warned us not to try to bring them back, for any of the dead who returned in the body would be no friends to the living._

_What Cerberus is doing may be a terrible evil. I don’t know. Guide me in this, Goddess, I beg you._

_Please watch over Shepard wherever he may be. He was human, and he followed his own God, but you taught us that all living beings are under your care no matter their form, no matter what stars shine down upon them. Watch over him, care for him and comfort him, protect him from every evil. Please._

_I loved him so much. Forgive me that I’ve been unable to let him go._

I brushed tears out of my eyes and looked up at the image again, taking a deep cleansing breath. Suddenly it occurred to me that our usual images of Athame didn’t offer much comfort.

 _You would think a Goddess of compassion would look down once in a while, at the worshippers around her feet_.

I shook my head, banishing the unwanted thought, and moved on to the next station. There, I sat quietly and listened to a lector-priestess reading from the Athame Codices.

The reading for the day came from the story of the _Theomachia_ , a battle between good and evil gods. In the story Athame, her colleagues, and her servants fight demonic powers that covet Thessia, threatening to destroy the asari people. It’s the only myth cycle in which Athame engages in violence, and even then only to protect the innocent and defenseless. Soldiers and law enforcement officers are often fond of the story. At the time, I found that my experiences with Shepard led me to appreciate it more as well.

Ever since I learned of the existence of the Reapers, I had sometimes wondered whether the _Theomachia_ constituted a dim memory of the last cycle. I knew that some of our most ancient myths dated back to asari prehistory, and they _might_ have originated contemporary with the Protheans. Still, it seemed unlikely that the evil deities and monsters of the _Theomachia_ referred to the Reapers. If we understood the enemy’s pattern at all, they did not attack worlds inhabited only by pre-technological primitives. While they busied themselves in destroying the Protheans, they would have passed Thessia by unharmed. The ancient asari would never have become aware of them.

No, I concluded, the _Theomachia_ was like many of the epic tales recorded in the Codices: a myth, a fabulous story invented by our remote ancestors, handed down to us as part of our cultural heritage. One could read it for inspiration or moral instruction, but it would be abject folly to treat it as historical narrative.

Of course, I had seen evidence that the Protheans _had_ visited Thessia in the distant past. Sha’ira once gave me a small artifact, clearly Prothean, which had been in her lineage since before asari had interstellar flight. It could not have been brought back to Thessia by asari, therefore it must have been _left_ there by the Protheans.

That little artifact was still a mystery to me. There had been so much to do. I had never even been able to follow up on my discoveries on Eletania, where the artifact had proven so useful. I had never pursued an investigation into what other Prothean artifacts might exist on Thessia itself.

_Perhaps I should do that . . . there might be useful evidence to be found . . ._

“Liara?”

I blinked, my train of thought lost, and turned to see who had quietly called me.

Aspasia stood there, still wearing the clothes she had worn to work, watching me curiously.

I stood, bowing briefly to the lector-priestess, and went to join my friend. I took her by the hand and led her out of the sanctuary, not wanting to converse with her in the holy silence. Only once we had emerged and I had recovered my belongings did I turn to her.

“Aspasia, this is a strange place to meet you. I didn’t realize you were an initiate of the Athame cult.”

“I’m not,” she admitted, her voice unusually serious. “At least not yet. I was only visiting.”

“Are you considering it?”

“Maybe.” She looked uneasy for a moment, and then made some decision that put a determined expression on her face. “You know me, I was never very religious. _Siari_ was always enough for me, but recently I’ve been thinking about something a little more, I don’t know, _structured_.”

I smiled at her as we left the temple and began to walk together down the brightly lit street. “What brought this on?”

“Well, if you _must_ know, it’s Yevgeni.”

For a moment this was such a _non sequitur_ that my mind simply didn’t engage. Then I realized what she was saying. “Aspasia, you are _not_ carrying on a liaison with one of our department heads?”

“No. I’m not,” she said, but something in her voice revealed the half-truth.

“But you _want_ to,” I concluded. “Goddess, you _do_ know just how much trouble this could cause?”

“I took enough courses in corporate sociology to know, yes.” She stopped and stared at me, folding her arms. “Liara, I can’t get the man out of my head. The way he speaks, the way he moves, his manner, his competence, even the cynical jokes he makes. It’s as if some _daimon_ designed him to distract me.”

I sighed. “Yes, I know how that can happen.”

“Was it like that with you and Shepard?”

“Yevgeni is not at all like Shepard, but yes, I know what it’s like to become infatuated with a human.”

“Oh Goddess, _what_ am I going to do? You’re my friend. You’re my _supervisor_. Talk to me.”

“As your supervisor, I should tell you to stop this right now before it gets any worse.” I looked into her eyes and couldn’t bring myself to do it. “As your friend . . . I can only tell you to be careful, if you think this is something you want. We’re just starting to look like a profitable institution. I can’t afford to have my immediate subordinates engaged in love-drama.”

“I understand.” Suddenly she grinned. “I _can_ be discreet, you know. As many love-affairs as you _think_ I had while we were at university, I actually had at least as many that you never learned about.”

“When did you have time to study?” I asked incredulously.

“Who said anything about _studying?_ I selected half of my lovers for their high marks in the subjects I needed to master. A night’s pleasure, a joining of our minds, and then I could usually assimilate the relevant material from the textbook or study guide in only a few minutes the next day.”

I slumped in defeat, raising a dramatic hand to my forehead. “Now why in the name of the Goddess didn’t _I_ ever think of that?”

“Because you may be the only asari I’ve ever met who reached her second century without having a single liaison with _anyone_ ,” she teased.

“Hmm. I prefer quality over quantity.”

She looked very smug as she plunged in the knife. “ _Some_ of us can have _both_.”

I made an inarticulate sound of mock-rage. Aspasia had always been able to get the better of me with this kind of banter. “So, getting back to the important subject, which is _you and Yevgeni_ . . . he is religious, then?”

She smiled, sensing her victory, and began to walk down the street with me once again. “More than I am, although I must admit that isn’t difficult. He follows that deity of suffering so many humans seem to have.”

“A Christian?” I remembered talking to Shepard about his religion, and about mine. It felt very strange to have almost the same conversation with Aspasia.

“That’s the name. Apparently there’s a distinctive version of the cult for people of his ethnic group. There are hardly any of them here on Illium, so he has no temple to attend, but he still tries to take it seriously.”

“So you want to explore a similar asari tradition, for the sake of having something in common with him?” I smiled and shook my head. “This must be _very_ serious indeed.”

“Don’t tease!” She took a deep breath. “I think it _is_ serious.”

“Well, it won’t do you any harm.” I turned and embraced her. “Goddess bless you both.”

She squeezed me back. “Thank you so much, Liara. I promise you won’t regret it.”

We parted, Aspasia to meet her not-yet-lover, I to my lonely apartment. Even so, I felt warm thinking about them. The Goddess frowns on anyone who could begrudge a friend her happiness.


	14. Corporate Culture

**_17 November 2183, T'Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

_Day 109. T’Soni Analytics was one hundred sixteen million, five hundred and thirty-eight thousand credits in the red._

I felt about ready to strangle someone.

The day had not begun well. I slept poorly, troubled by bad dreams that I could barely remember after I awoke. Not even a hot shower and a good breakfast made me feel alert or ready for work.

In the elevator, one of the new computer technicians, a male human, ogled me for a moment before trying a pick-up line. He didn’t know me; he simply saw an attractive asari who he deduced must work somewhere else in the firm. Then one of his friends whispered frantically in his ear, and he broke off with huge eyes. I gave him a cool smile and assurances that I took no offense, but to this day I still think he reported for duty in a state of mortal terror.

The morning staff meeting crawled along, prickly and difficult. Aspasia behaved as if distracted, not as crisp or efficient as usual. Yevgeni brought the meeting to a halt while he tried to recover information he should have had at his fingertips. I did not reprimand them out loud, but a moment’s icy stare made my feelings clear.

Then the day’s analytic work seemed positively _cursed_. Somehow three of the analytic teams got into a priority conflict, pushing mutually contradictory tasking across to the Collection department. Our tasking system should have prevented such a conflict; it took me almost two hours to locate the subtle error in business logic that had caused the problem. That put me far behind on the day’s editorial work. Then I found weak analysis, unsupported assertions, and even _poor grammar_ in report after report. Back the reports went to be re-written, black marks piling up in the system for twenty analysts and their team leaders. I had to re-task a number of analysts to finish our top-priority reporting for the day, which meant that the day’s _Galactic Overview_ fell behind by still more hours.

Somehow, _somehow,_ we managed to finish the day shift’s assigned tasks only four hours late. By which time I was exhausted, ravenously hungry, fighting off a fierce headache, and _seething_.

“Aspasia, could you come into my office? I need a reality check.”

Even Aspasia felt it, I could tell. She wasn’t in her usual high spirits when she appeared in my office doorway. In fact, I thought she looked slightly apprehensive.

I shook my head at her. “Come in, sit down, and take your shoes off. I’m not going to shout, scream, or throw objects. At least not at you.”

She obeyed my instructions, removing her shoes and sinking onto one of the soft couches with a sigh of relief. “I think half of the team leaders in Analysis are expecting you to do it at them.”

“I’m tempted. Goddess, what was _wrong_ with them today? I had to restrain myself from walking out on the watch floor and beating people senseless with a style guide.”

She sighed and stretched her legs, wiggling her bare toes to ease the tension. Her voice recovered some of its usual vivacity. “Liara, when you were traveling with Commander Shepard, didn’t you _ever_ have a day when absolutely _everything_ went wrong at once?”

I shuddered, remembering Rayingri. “Yes. We walked into a geth trap and almost got ourselves killed, every one of us. Shepard and I were both badly hurt. The only reason we escaped was that I managed to telekinetically pull a building down on top of the geth.”

Her eyes went wide. “A whole _building?”_

“I was desperate. Especially since we were inside the building at the time. Are you saying that today was just a random statistical fluctuation? The business equivalent of a bad scalp day?”

“Well, no. I think we do have some systemic problems. The statistical fluctuation is that those problems were much worse than usual today, but they’ve been brewing for a while.”

I leaned back in my chair and massaged my temples. “Explain.”

“Well, on paper we’re doing very well,” she said. “Our daily balance sheet has consistently been in the black for weeks now. Right now we’re making a little over two and a half million credits a day in _profit_. Money is simply not a concern anymore. If my projections are right, you’ll have your initial investment back in a few more months.”

“I know that. I’ve been getting subtle hints from various extremely wealthy asari who would be only too happy to buy a share in T’Soni Analytics. If I were inclined to look for other investors. Which I am not.”

Aspasia nodded, her eyes closed as she melted into the soft chair. “The problem, Liara, is that we’re getting too big, and we’re doing it too quickly.”

“I thought we were on track,” I said, confused. “You said yourself that we were still in line with the projections we made at the beginning.”

“We are . . . but think about it. There are over _three thousand people_ on your payroll right now. To be sure, most of them are paid informants, out in the galaxy and many of them not even knowing that they work for you. Here in the central office it’s over two hundred, and we’re still hiring new personnel almost every day. You don’t know them all. They don’t all know each other.”

I remembered the male human in the elevator that morning. Thinking back, I realized that he must have been no more than twenty-five or so.

_Very good, Liara, you’ve terrorized an infant._

I realized I still did not know the man’s name, and he was one of my _employees_. I shook my head. “You had to know this would come, that right about now we would grow too large to be . . . a family any longer.”

She nodded in vigorous agreement. “Oh yes. In fact I expected it _weeks_ ago. I suppose it’s a tribute to the automation and business rules we set up at the beginning, that things went so smoothly for as long as they did.”

“What you’re saying is that we’ve grown so quickly – we _had_ to grow so quickly – that we haven’t had time to establish a positive corporate identity. Until we do, our people will keep stumbling over each other.”

“Liara, you’re a gem. That’s exactly right.” She shifted her position, sitting on the edge of her seat, almost vibrating with her eagerness to make the point. “Corporate identity. _Corporate culture._ All the unspoken expectations, habits of thought, social systems that glue an organization together. Positive culture can give everyone purpose, drive them to excel even when the boss isn’t there to look over their shoulders. Negative corporate culture can be a weight on everyone’s ankles, dragging them down into the mud no matter how hard they work.”

“All right, Dr. Lehanai. What is your diagnosis?”

She stared at me, her face gone suddenly sober. “You won’t like it.”

“I like what happened today even less.”

“All right. The thing about corporate culture is that an organization’s leaders can’t impose it from the top. Not consciously. Everyone in the organization takes part in deciding what the corporate culture will be like. The most leadership can do is provide a positive example, a model for others to follow . . . and Liara, I’m afraid you haven’t been doing that.”

The criticism stung, no matter how mildly it was delivered. I forced myself to remain calm. “What do you mean?”

“Think about what you spent today doing. You spent hours chasing a logic trap with Arin’s people. Then you spent more hours checking reports for misplaced commas, and making people’s lives miserable when you found them.” She pointed accusingly at me. “You are _micromanaging.”_

“That logic trap could have cost us thousands of man-hours if we hadn’t corrected it,” I pointed out. “And the reports are our most important product. They have to be as close to perfect as we can manage if they’re going to earn top credits.”

“That’s all true, but it’s not as relevant as you seem to think. Look at it from the point of view of one of our line workers.” She held her hand down low, to indicate something at the bottom of a pile. “This person doesn’t supervise anyone directly; we just hired her to do a job. She has an immediate supervisor to whom she is accountable. She has policies and procedures to follow. All of this is good. It makes her feel secure. She can follow the rules, she can get to know her supervisor and adjust to her quirks and foibles.”

I nodded to show I was with her thus far.

“Now what do you suppose _you_ look like to our line worker?” Aspasia raised her hand far over her head. “The great Dr. Liara T’Soni. Attractive. Glamorous. Brilliant. Famous. Fabulously wealthy. Controversial. She’s so young and yet she deals with the galaxy’s foremost leaders every day. She was involved with that fascinating human, Commander Shepard. She’s trying to save the entire galaxy from Goddess knows what. She’s an asari on a _quest_. It’s just _amazing_ to work for her.”

“Oh, stop it,” I said uncomfortably.

“Ah, but wait! The great Dr. Liara T’Soni is in the habit of swooping down from her mountain heights.” She made her hand swoop down. “Right past the department heads, right past our line worker’s immediate supervisor, right to her very desktop . . . to demand that she correct her _comma usage.”_

“Your point?” I demanded.

“My _point_ is that every time you do that, you rob our line workers of the security they need to be effective. They need to know that the rules aren’t going to keep changing whenever you have a whim. You also demonstrate to them that you don’t trust their management chain. You don’t trust your department heads to solve problems and get things done properly on their own. You don’t trust the mid-level managers to keep their subordinates on task. You diminish the leadership structure in the eyes of the workforce; you rob managers of the respect they need to be effective. And what’s worse, you diminish _yourself_. It’s hard to be an inspiring figure when you look exactly like every other demanding, unreasonable boss they’ve ever had.”

“I never wanted to be an _inspiring figure.”_

 _“Too fucking bad,”_ said Aspasia harshly. “That’s what you’ve become. It’s what T’Soni Analytics needs most from you. It’s what I would have thought your time with Commander Shepard had taught you to be. So are you going to search your _areté_ and figure out how to do it well, or are you going to watch this corporation – your brainchild and mine – founder in the mud?”

I sat, somewhat shocked by her sudden vulgar language. We stared at each other for a long moment.

My desktop chimed.

We both glanced at it in surprise. No one should have been able to reach my private code, not this late in the evening after my secretary had gone home.

I touched a control to respond. A holographic window appeared over my desk. Aspasia moved aside so as not to appear in the field of vision.

An asari face appeared. One I recognized immediately.

“Dr. T’Soni. I’ve been hoping to speak to you for some time,” said Matriarch Pytho.

The owner and CEO of the Illium Defense Force.

* * *

Before the Reaper War, Illium’s system of government was almost unique among asari worlds. Illium’s citizens liked to claim that the planet had no government at all, but this clearly stood as an exaggeration. Not very many laws bound every citizen, but a few did, and those laws had to be created, interpreted, and enforced by _someone_.

All law on Illium rested in a single document: the Compact. It was a surprisingly short document to serve as the governing charter of an entire world. Indeed, the only reason it was not shorter still was the extraordinarily precise high-asari dialect in which it was written. Legislative authority resided in the Illium Development Commission, a board of the owners or CEOs of the planet’s twelve wealthiest corporations. These “Twelve” had to be in unanimous agreement to create any new law – that is, to modify the Compact. As a result, the Compact had been amended only eight times in over five hundred years.

The Commission was the only purely political institution that existed on Illium. Private organizations handled every other function of government on a contract basis. Private security firms enforced the Compact. Private arbitrators dealt with legal disputes and contract enforcement. Private industry carried out the building and maintenance of infrastructure. These services were most often funded by general subscriptions, negotiated with all of the corporations which used them. Illium’s corporate citizens willingly paid four or five percent of their revenues to ensure the maintenance of good order.

It was a form of government that humans called _anarcho-capitalism_. Among humans it was a purely theoretical form; the few times it had been tried on a large scale had all failed dramatically. Why humans had never managed it, whereas Illium had enjoyed stability and prosperity for over five centuries, I hesitate to guess. There _are_ significant differences between human and asari psychology . . .

I should probably state for the record that I didn’t entirely _approve_ of Illium’s social structure. It may have been stable and prosperous, but that prosperity was not for everyone. The wealthy and powerful had great skill at maintaining the system for their exclusive benefit. If you were not born to wealth and privilege, you would probably spend most of your life fighting for every scrap of affluence you could get. If you were sick or disabled, and you had not been able to afford expensive insurance, then Illium was only too happy to leave you to starve to death in the streets. It was the only asari world in the galaxy that legally permitted chattel slavery – pardon me, _indentured servitude._ And even if you came to Illium wealthy, you could very easily lose that wealth – and even your life – unless you developed skill in reading the very fine print of contracts.

At that time in my life, I had lived on Illium off and on for about forty years. In youth I had seen it as a place to escape from the rigid social expectations of Thessia, of my mother’s household. It had served as a convenient place from which to plan scientific expeditions, and now it provided a convenient place to establish a new information brokerage. None of that meant I was unaware of the dark places where corruption festered.

I once heard an asari Spectre describe the planet as “Omega with expensive shoes.” She was very insightful. I found it very ironic when she later became one of my worst enemies.

* * *

As you may imagine, when Matriarch Pytho called me directly in my office, casually demonstrating her ability to smash through _very_ good security, I took notice.

She had come to Illium with the first wave of settlement, establishing the Illium Defense Force in the first year of the colony’s existence. She had spent most of her life as the foremost provider of defense services for the colony. She had grown with Illium: first she commanded a company of commandos, then a battalion, then a regiment, then a squadron of corvettes, then frigates, then cruisers. Now a Matriarch in the last century of her life, she was one of the Twelve, commanding annual revenues of well over a hundred billion credits. When she spoke, Illium listened.

When she appeared on my screen, haughty and dignified with age, her piercing eyes and deep-blue headdress reminding me uncomfortably of Benezia . . . I listened.

“Matriarch Pytho,” I responded with a deep bow. “How may I be of service?”

She bestowed a glacial smile. “Courtesy. It is an unexpected gift in one so young. It is possible that you and I might do one another a service, Dr. T’Soni.”

I sat down at my desk, leaned back and steepled my fingers. “I’m listening.”

“I am aware of your agenda. You seek to convince the galaxy to prepare for the onset of these _Reapers.”_

“That is one of my goals, yes. Have you read my papers on this subject?”

“I have indeed. Very impressive work. I am prepared to be convinced, especially since my friends on the Citadel have privately informed me of the truth behind the defeat of Saren Arterius.”

I smiled slightly. “You don’t accept the Council’s version of events?”

 _“Pah._ Lying comes as naturally to the Council as breathing oxygen. If they informed me that matter possessed mass, I would perform an experiment to verify their assertion.”

“I’m certain they have their reasons,” I said mildly.

“Liars always do. Never mind. You assert that these Reapers may return at any time and attempt to eradicate our civilization. Do you know when?”

“We have no way to know, Matriarch. My instincts tell me it will be soon, perhaps no more than a few years.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “It seems likely that _Sovereign_ was some kind of forward scout or vanguard for the Reapers. I speculate that they leave one such behind after each cycle, to watch over the galaxy and call for the next invasion when organic life has reached the proper level of development. Clearly _Sovereign_ was making every effort to open the Citadel mass relay and summon the rest of the Reapers. Whatever conditions it watched for have _already_ been fulfilled. It would be foolish to assume that the Reapers have only one way to know that the time for invasion has come, or that they have only one way to reach the galaxy from dark space. I think we can expect another attempt at any time.”

“Sound analysis, Doctor. I agree. Illium must be prepared, if it is possible to _prepare_ for such a disaster. I may be able to implement your agenda, at least here on Illium, and what Illium does others may imitate.”

“Thank you.” I smiled at her. “You haven’t said what I can do for _you.”_

“You may assist me in keeping my position as one of the Twelve,” said Pytho. “After all, I cannot prepare Illium for Reaper attack if I am no longer its leading provider of military services.”

“I find it hard to believe that you could be displaced so easily.”

“A year ago I might have agreed with you. Now I am not so certain. Several others of the Twelve are seriously considering cutting off their subscription payments to the Defense Force. Where they lead, many others will follow.”

I shook my head, still trying to process what she was saying. “What could possibly convince them to do such a thing?”

“I’m certain you have noticed recent trends in piracy.”

“Of course. Attacks on Illium-registered shipping into the Terminus Systems are up about ten percent from this time last year.”

“Correct. Even merchant convoys which purchase IDF escort are preyed upon. I believe someone is attempting to discredit the IDF and me. Thus far they have been quite effective.”

“Who?”

Her eyes held mine. “That is what I want you to discover.”

I glanced over at Aspasia, who was nearly bursting with excitement. She nodded vigorously at me.

“Are you offering T’Soni Analytics a commission to seek out this conspiracy against the IDF?”

“That is correct. If you succeed, if you can bring me proof, then I should be able to retain my position and I will begin to prepare Illium for the Reapers. I’m also prepared to purchase a gold-tier subscription to your firm’s entire product line.” She hesitated for a moment. “I have intelligence assets of my own, of course. They have been unsuccessful in solving this problem. I suspect I may have been infiltrated. I am gambling that you and your firm are more worthy of trust.”

I reached a decision. It wasn’t all that difficult. “Of course, Matriarch. We will do all that we can for you.”


	15. Risk Assessment

**_18 November 2183, T’Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

I spent most of the night lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. In the morning, I rose long before my alarm would have sounded, cut my normal waking-up routine short, and reached the office two hours early. For once, I arrived even before Aspasia did.

I spent the extra time going through audit logs for the Analysis department, all the way back to our first day of operation. I examined my team leaders most closely, looking for those who consistently got the highest marks for efficiency and solid reporting. I examined their dossiers, looking for signs of potential trouble in their personal lives.

I kept coming up with the same answer.

With fifteen minutes to go, I called her into my office.

An asari less like Aspasia would be difficult to imagine. She looked rather _plain:_ tall and angular, always wearing conservative gowns with high necks, long sleeves, and gloves. She bore skin of an unremarkable blue-violet shade, with light indigo facial markings. Her features seemed rather severe: her eyes too narrow, her nose too long, and her chin too prominent. She had a quiet and self-effacing manner, and she didn’t seem to have made many friends. Yet she had already shown considerable intelligence, analytic skill, and talent for managing a small team.

Could she manage a _large_ one? It didn’t matter. We had no better candidate.

“It’s clear to me that I need to reorganize the corporation,” I told her without preamble. “I’ve been spending too much time on details of the daily routine, and not enough time on leadership and strategic planning.”

She said nothing, but I saw a flicker in her eyes. She agreed, but her manners were too good to permit her to say so.

“The most significant change is that I am going to step down as the head of Analysis. I need someone to take my place. The position is yours if you want it.”

 _That_ surprised her. “Are you certain?”

“No, I’m not.” I smiled ruefully. “My instincts tell me to keep control, but in this case I know better than to listen to my instincts. The firm will do better if I’m not constantly stirring the pot. You are the most consistently productive team leader in Analysis. Your team has nearly the lowest rate of returns for revision. You seem to be very good at prioritizing tasks. I know this is sudden, and you will have to do a great deal of learning on the job, but I think you will succeed.”

She took a deep breath. “I will have full equality with the other department heads?”

“You won’t be a figurehead. It will be your department to organize and manage as you see fit. I _will_ probably spend more one-on-one time with you than with the others – Analysis is the most important department we have – but I won’t go past you to interfere.”

She nodded firmly. “I accept. When do I start?”

I glanced at my omni-tool. “In five minutes, at the morning staff meeting.”

“I will be ready.”

I stood and shook her hand solemnly. “I’m sure you will be, Nyxeris.”

* * *

The staff meeting took longer than usual, but it was quite productive. I announced that I would be trying to practice a less intrusive management style. I introduced the new head of Analysis. Then I turned the meeting into a brainstorming session, to consider ways to get the corporation running more smoothly again. Everyone had good ideas, and we decided to implement some of them right away.

After that I called a general meeting of the Analysis department. I made a short inspirational speech, publicly confirmed my appointment of Nyxeris as the new department head, and immediately retreated to my office so that she could take charge.

At first I found myself at a loss for things to do. I had eaten nothing for breakfast, so I sent out for a decent midday meal from one of the restaurants on the ground floor of the building. I pulled up _one_ holographic window – an overview of the day’s tasking for Analysis – and watched it while I ate. The department was behind schedule, but not as badly as the previous day, and I could see the shortfall dwindling by the time I finished my meal. I spot-checked two or three of the reports that had been completed and tagged for release; they weren’t _perfect_ , but I had to admit they were probably good enough.

_Have the courage of your convictions, Liara. You know Aspasia was right. You know you need to take a step back and reconsider how to lead your people._

_So begin._

I closed the desktop window. I turned and leaned back in my chair, looking out at the Nos Astra skyline and sipping the chilled Serrice white that had come with my lunch. Then I very firmly set aside all my personal issues, reviewed the needs of the corporation, and made a decision.

For the rest of the work day I attacked Matriarch Pytho’s problem. I examined the data she had sent us by secure channel. I pored over a list of piracy incidents affecting Illium-registered shipping. I reviewed the history and current makeup of the Illium Defense Force. I pulled dossier after dossier from our databases. I began to draw up timelines, flow-charts, association webs.

By the end of day shift, I reached one solid conclusion. Matriarch Pytho was correct: the Illium Defense Force was _thoroughly_ infiltrated.

Consider all the risks a pirate has to accept in order to make a profit. She cannot attack or even _detect_ a merchant ship while it is in FTL. Even in normal geometry, space is so vast that she will need a great deal of luck to be able to intercept her prey. Her best strategy is therefore to lurk near a “choke point,” a relatively small region in normal space where merchant ships can be expected to pass. Such a choke point is most often found near a mass relay, or near an outpost or settled world.

Most choke points are guarded, of course, so our pirate takes a great risk whenever she pops out of hiding and moves to attack her target. A patrol from the nearest high-population world may appear at any time. Meanwhile, merchant ships in dangerous regions of space often hire armed escorts, increasing our pirate’s risks still further. Whenever she sees a merchant ship appear in her choke point, she has to wonder whether it has a well-armed friend following close behind.

All of these obstacles have to do with a lack of information. The pirate can’t _know_ exactly where or when a tempting target will appear, and can’t _know_ whether that target is unguarded.

Of course, there are number of ways around this difficulty. The simplest strategy is simply to bring more force along, more ships and more crew, hoping to overwhelm any patrol or escort. But this strategy cuts into our pirate’s already-limited profits. If she consistently brings too much force, she has to divide the profits among too many greedy hands. If she brings too little, she may easily end up dead or in a Terminus prison.

More clever pirates find other ways to stack the deck in their favor. Some worlds in the Terminus Systems actively harbor pirates, turning a blind eye to their activities in exchange for a cut of the profits. Some pirate gangs infiltrate merchant crews in advance, using murder or sabotage to force a ship out of FTL in a location convenient for attack. Still others limit their operations to the ground, seizing ships while they are in port.

The pirates attacking Ilium-registered shipping had been using the simplest possible strategy, and had been far more successful than could be expected by chance. They had been ambushing merchant ships in space, near mass relays or refueling stations, avoiding local patrols and always bringing just enough force to defeat any IDF escort. Clearly the pirates had inside information.

Could they have infiltrated the commercial carriers rather than the IDF?

Another two hours of work answered that question in the negative. The _pattern_ of piracy incidents told the tale.

Attacks on Illium shipping first spiked half a year before, about the time that Shepard and I fought the geth on Feros. The surge frightened some of the major shipping firms, causing them to turn to the IDF for protection. Matriarch Pytho assigned frigates to escort duty, and for a month or two that seemed to work. Then a new wave of attacks began, well-organized and strong enough to overcome the IDF escorts. Pytho changed her tactics: increasing the size of convoys, sending full cruisers from the Illium home fleet, arming merchant vessels to serve as Q-ships. Nothing worked for long. The pirates adapted each time – again, in ways that suggested that they had advance knowledge of IDF plans.

Pytho clearly knew how to manage good operational security. She did not share her strategic or tactical planning with the commercial carriers. Any informant inside the shipping firms would have no way to pass timely intelligence to the pirates.

The pirates’ agents had to be within the IDF itself.

I activated security measures in my office, opaquing the windows and turning on white-noise generators. Then I called up a comm channel and applied top-level encryption. Matriarch Pytho answered within a minute.

“Matriarch, I can confirm that your organization has been infiltrated.”

“Explain,” she said curtly.

I walked her through my reasoning, sending a few files containing statistical analysis through the link.

She nodded in satisfaction when I was finished. “That marches with our own inquiry. What level of infiltration do you believe we have?”

“That depends on the structure of information flow within the IDF,” I told her. “Five or six low-level informants in critical positions might be enough.”

“Very good. I see your reputation is not unearned . . . but so far you have uncovered nothing new.”

“I would be shocked if any of this surprised you, Matriarch. It was important that we understand the problem up front.”

“What is your next step?”

I smiled at her. “You will forgive me if I don’t reveal too much about my own sources and methods.”

She nodded graciously.

“I imagine you can find your own traitors, given time. They almost certainly do not know for whom they work, so that will not reveal the identity of the mastermind behind this conspiracy. T’Soni Analytics will pursue . . . other lines of investigation.”

“Very good. Please keep this channel of communication open. I will share any new information I uncover.”

“As will I. Expect another report within a few days.”

I sat back and thought for a few minutes after the Matriarch disconnected. Pursuing the investigation from the IDF end would be fruitless. No point in asking who might have a _motive_ to attack Matriarch Pytho. The list would be far too long to be of any use. That left tracing the pirates themselves. Which meant . . . well. Time enough to face _that_ issue in the morning.

I knew an expert on pirates and piracy. I opened a channel to the Citadel and placed a call.

I got no response, not even an out-of-office message.

I tried again. Still no luck.

I thought hard for a long minute, and then placed a second call. This one went through.

A turian face stared out of the screen at me. “Who . . . oh, good day, Dr. T’Soni.”

“Detective Chellick. I’m surprised you remember me.”

“Hard not to. I was sorry to hear about Commander Shepard and the _Normandy_. I see you’re on Illium now.”

“Yes. Detective, I’ve been trying to reach Garrus Vakarian, but my calls aren’t going through. Has something happened?”

“Hmm.” Turian faces were always hard to read, but I saw something in the detective’s expression: frustration, and perhaps a little anger. “Garrus left the Citadel, Doctor. Several weeks ago. I don’t know where he’s gone.”

“ _Left_ the Citadel?” I asked, not sure I had heard correctly. “The last time I spoke to him, he had returned to C-Sec. He was being considered as a Spectre candidate. What happened?”

Chellick shook his head. “It’s hard to say. I used to think I knew him, but . . . He went a little crazy here, before he left. Suddenly took to drinking, not too much and not on duty, but enough for me to notice. Went way over the line with one or two of the suspects under investigation. I had to warn him. Reprimand him, at least off the record.”

“That doesn’t sound like Garrus.”

“With all due respect, Doctor, you haven’t known Garrus as long as I have. He’s always had an overdeveloped sense of justice.”

“I would think a police officer _needed_ such a thing.”

“There’s where you’re wrong. A police officer can’t afford to spend too much time thinking about _justice_. His duty is to enforce the _law_. That means he can’t go around breaking the law he’s sworn to enforce, even if that means justice doesn’t get done. Garrus always had a problem with that, from the moment he joined the force. For a while after he got back from traveling with Commander Shepard, he seemed to have gotten his head on straight . . . but then it all went to hell again, very suddenly.”

I sighed. “I wish he had called me. I would have done anything to help him.”

“I’m not surprised he didn’t call, Doctor. That man has some dark spirits riding him. He may not have wanted to inflict them on you.”

“So you have no idea where he has gone?”

“None. Resigned from C-Sec, resigned his Spectre candidacy, cleaned out his apartment, vanished. No forwarding address. I know he didn’t go back to Palaven or anywhere else in turian space, but that doesn’t tell us much. It’s a big galaxy.”

“All right.”

“Sorry I couldn’t be of more help. If I do hear from him, I’ll let him know you were asking.”

“Thank you, Detective.”

I felt a pang of loneliness, maybe of guilt.

_What happened, Garrus? What went wrong?_

It occurred to me that he might have been driven by the same betrayal that drove me. The Council had cast aside everything Shepard had worked for, had swept all evidence of the Reaper threat out the door to be ignored. I had been inspired to build an information brokerage, as a weapon against the Council’s ignorance and lies. Perhaps Garrus had been pushed in a different direction, no less drastic but more suited to his personality.

If only I had known. I could have offered him an alternative, a partnership of sorts. I wouldn’t have abandoned him to his darkness.

Or perhaps I would have. I realized it had been months since I had last spoken to him, and I had barely noticed.

_Goddess, is this my fault? Was I so busy here that I left him alone when he most needed a friend?_

I shook my head and resolved not to make the same mistake again. I would call Tali, Wrex, Ashley, Joker, Councilor Anderson, and Admiral Hackett. I would reopen the lines of communication, and this time I would keep them open. No more of my friends, no more of Shepard’s people, would suffer for my inattention.

I sighed and checked the time. Two hours past the end of day shift.

For the first time in several hours, I called up the status window for the Analysis department. The day shift’s work wasn’t finished . . . but it was nearly so, and Nyxeris was still hard at work overseeing the last few tasks. Again I spot-checked a few of the outgoing reports; again I found them adequate. The improvement from the previous day was obvious.

On my way out of the building I visited the watch floor, just long enough to look into Nyxeris’s office. She looked up from her work, catching my eye with a faint smile. I gave her a silent gesture of affirmation and went home.

* * *

**_20 November 2183, Omega_ **

Kalliste Renai emerged from _Themis_ onto the Omega docks, her team in tow.

I had _not_ planned to re-use the Renai identity so soon after Terapso. Truth be told, I had hoped never to use it again, but that was before Aspasia confronted me with my strategic mistakes.

Other people could manage the day-to-day business of T’Soni Analytics. Other people could write reports, handle low-level informants, keep our technology running, shuffle files and money. Only I could _lead_ the firm: set strategic goals, establish policies, monitor performance . . . and take command of our most high-risk, high-reward missions. That meant the widely famous Dr. Liara T’Soni needed a cover identity when it was time to work in the Terminus Systems. I needed Kalliste Renai, or someone like her. Since she already had a reputation, why not continue to use her identity?

It seemed logically sound. That didn’t mean it felt comfortable to put on her persona once more.

I had the same team as on Terapso, with the addition of Yevgeni Stoletov. Yevgeni and Vara T’Rathis were my covert agents, Quintus Trevanian my combat specialist, and Arin’Tana nar Moreh my technical and cyberwarfare expert. The five of us felt crowded on little _Themis_ , but the trip to Omega had been short enough not to present any great hardship.

The five of us walked down the access ramp from our dock, just as Garrus and I had done months before. Once again I felt a pang, remembering the turian and wondering where he had gone.

Suddenly I felt Quintus tense up and step closer to my side.

A tall, thick-set batarian approached us along the access ramp, well-armed, but alone and carefully keeping his hands away from his weapons. He singled me out and stepped directly into my path.

“You Kalliste Renai?” he demanded.

I put on my best pugnacious Kalliste face. “Who wants to know?”

“My name’s Moklan. I work for Aria. She wants to see you. _Now_.”

“Hmm. This is a surprise. Does she send you out to harass everyone who docks at Omega?”

Moklan shook his head. “No, just the ones who have a habit of blowing things up wherever they go. You don’t want to keep her waiting.”

I glanced at my team and felt pride. Not one of them looked as apprehensive as I felt.

“Well, you heard the man. Time to go pay the Pirate Queen a visit.”


	16. Follow the Money

**_20 November 2183, Afterlife/Omega_ **

My team remained behind on the Afterlife floor. As I ascended to Aria’s inner sanctum, escorted by a surly batarian guard, it bizarrely reminded me of my office in Nos Astra. Just as my windows looked out over the floor of the Exchange, Aria’s private space looked out over the floor of Afterlife.

_She rules here, more absolutely than you ever will on Illium_ _. Be on guard._

At first I got only a fleeting impression of her. Before I could climb into her space, her people forced me to stop while another batarian scanned me with his omni-tool. Aria herself stood with her back to me, tall and athletic in her black bodysuit and white jacket, utterly unconcerned for her own safety.

“She’s clean,” said the batarian, and weapons lowered.

Aria turned to watch me, and I was struck silent.

I had studied my dossier on her before we arrived at Omega, including pictures and first-person reports from my informants. The dossier seemed remarkably thin, considering her importance on the galactic stage. We didn’t even know her real name. She had gone by many aliases in her long life; the aristocratic lineage name she currently claimed served as nothing more than a cynical joke. One got the overall impression of an adventurer, someone who had wandered the galaxy for centuries before coming to Omega. The best estimate I had at the time was that she was about six hundred years old, with commando training, a great deal of combat experience, and biotic talents unusual even for an asari.

I knew before I saw Aria that she was a power to be reckoned with. I had not expected her sheer _presence_ , something that didn’t reveal itself in the pictures I had examined. I found it hard to analyze, some combination of athletic grace, stylish clothes, dramatic gestures, and sheer arrogant pride. She was the most important person in any room she happened to visit, and she knew it, and somehow that called the eye like a magnet. I disliked her intensely and at once, but even I wasn’t immune to the effect.

“Well. You’re not at _all_ what you appear to be, are you?”

“What do I appear to be?” I asked quietly.

“Clearly you’re auditioning for the role of the Cynical Asari Maiden with a Gun. Take it from an expert, you are trying _much_ too hard.”

I couldn’t help it. I _smiled_ at her. “Doesn’t everyone in the Terminus Systems play one role or another? We can’t _all_ land a long-term paying gig as Pirate Queen.”

She laughed and sat down on her throne-like couch, gesturing to invite me to sit nearby. “True enough. I suppose it doesn’t matter, so long as you don’t get the idea that it’s safe to lie to _me_.”

I seated myself on another couch to her right. “Then don’t ask any questions I would have to lie to answer.”

“I don’t care enough about you to pry, _Kalliste Renai_ , or whatever you want to call yourself. All I need to know is your business here.”

“I’m just looking for work,” I told her.

She cocked her head and watched me intently. “That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

“Not planning to meddle on Omega the way you did on Terapso?”

“I didn’t _plan_ what happened on Terapso.”

“Hmm. Whether you planned it or not, it certainly worked. I’m surprised that you’re looking for work after that. The Port Authority should have handed you the keys to the city.”

I shook my head and looked down my nose at her. “Security work isn’t within my skill set. Not to mention I get nervous and irritable if I have to stay in the same place for too long.”

“Then what kind of work _are_ you looking for?”

“I need a big score,” I said, as if this was a reluctant admission. “I’ve heard that someone here on Omega is hiring ships and crews. Signing bonuses, promises of a big payoff.”

“I see,” said Aria, examining me closely.

I pretended to be unconcerned. That she saw through my act was not in doubt, but perhaps she didn’t see everything. Perhaps she just didn’t care. Aria had a reputation for tolerating the schemes of others, so long as they clearly posed no threat to _her_ position.

She also had a reputation for acting quickly and violently if she concluded that someone’s schemes _did_ pose a threat to her position. I tried not to think about that.

“All right then,” she said at last. “Whether you know it or not, you did me a favor on Terapso, solving that problem before I had to take action of my own. Not to mention that you gave me an excuse to kick Jona Sederis’s _lovely_ blue ass off Omega once and for all. I always pay my debts.”

“You don’t owe me anything. I didn’t do it for you.”

“Then it’s a very _small_ debt, and easily discharged. Go talk to a human named Murtock. He owns an armed corvette and runs with a small gang of his own. Like you, I suppose, but with a lot more hair and stink. He just signed on for the job you’re talking about, so he can put you in touch with the money.”

“Where can I find this human?”

“His ship is the _Rocinante_ , Terra Nova registry. If he’s not on board, he might be here in the club. He drinks too much.”

I suspected Aria was playing a game of her own. I doubted that she ever acted without at least two purposes in mind, or gave a gift without concealing a sting inside. But it was a lead, and it sounded worth following. So I rose and nodded to her. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me too soon. You haven’t met Murtock yet. Or his _crew_.”

* * *

**_20 November 2183, Omega Docking Ring_ **

Murtock could not be found in Afterlife. We therefore checked the in-port directory, and went walking down Omega’s secondary docking ring. There we found it, in docking bay 32- _beta._ _Rocinante:_ a very small ship, even smaller than _Themis_ , capable of cargo hauling but over-engined and over-gunned for her size. A good ship for a smuggler, or a pirate. She looked battered and worn, but solidly built.

We saw someone performing external maintenance on _Rocinante_ as we approached. I looked, and then did a double-take at one of the most unusual humans I had ever seen.

At first I thought I saw a small male, but then I noticed a slight swell at breast and hip. Female, then, lanky and slender, but moving like an athlete or a dancer. Strong as well, handling a heavy welder with the ease of long practice. Her skull was shaved clean, only a trace of brown stubble left behind. She wore a small leather jacket, loose trousers cut off at the knees, combat boots, and at the moment a welding visor.

The most startling thing about her was her body art. We asari occasionally indulge in such, images or script on our bodies, abstract patterns on our faces. This human, on the other hand, was a living, breathing work of art. From her shaven skull down to her feet, vivid imagery covered almost every centimeter of exposed skin: abstract patterns, geometric shapes, faces, images of violence and death, words and numbers in several different scripts. I found it quite startling, but also quite beautiful after a moment to take in the whole.

“Hey! You know where Murtock is?” I shouted, playing my part. Kalliste Renai could never be considered _polite_.

She turned off her welder, pushed the visor up from her face, and turned to look at me.

I nearly recoiled in shock. Those _eyes._

Years later I got to know Subject Zero – Jacqueline Nought – _Jack_ – quite well. By then she had matured a little, let go of some of her universal rage, legacy of a truly _horrible_ early life. Eventually we even became friends, of a sort.

On that first encounter I looked into those deep, striking brown eyes and thought: _This human is not fully sane. She is a feral creature. A killer._ Her eyes burned with hard, unyielding anger, ready to lash out at a moment’s notice.

“Who the fuck wants to know?” she demanded.

“I’m Kalliste Renai.” I tossed my head to indicate my team. “These are my people. Aria T’Loak gave us Murtock’s name, said we should talk to him about a job.”

“Screw that. We don’t need to split the take any more than we already are.”

I folded my arms, Shepard-like, and held her hostile stare. “Why don’t we let Murtock decide that?”

She matched my stare for another moment, then grunted and activated her radio. “Yo, Murtock? There’s an asari bitch and her merry band out here. They say the Whore Queen sent ‘em to ask about the job. You wanna talk to ‘em?” Pause. “You sure?” Longer pause. “Oh, all right. You keep handing out freebies, though, we’re not gonna have two creds to rub together by the time we’re done.”

She turned her hostile glare back on me. “All right, blue, you win. Go on in and talk to the boss. But just you. Your ass-kissers can wait out here.”

“Good enough.” I turned to my crew.

“ _Charming_ woman,” observed Yevgeni.

“Don’t underestimate her,” said Quintus. “Did you get a good look at the back of her neck?”

“You’ve got sharper eyes than the rest of us,” I pointed out. “What did you see?”

“Nasty scarring at the base of her skull, with more running down her spine until her jacket covered it. I’m guessing she had a lot of meatball surgery at some point.”

“Black-market biotic implants?” guessed Yevgeni. “She looks young enough to have gotten one of the better models, maybe even some version of the L5.”

“I’ll be careful,” I promised. “We’re just going to talk, after all. Why don’t you all wait . . . over there?”

I pointed to a spot by the top of the docking bay’s access ramp, not far from the umbilical attachment where _Rocinante_ pulled water, power, and data from the Omega systems. At the same time I caught Arin’s eye – not normally an easy feat with a quarian, but he had been learning to pick up on my nonverbal signals. He nodded.

I turned and walked up to _Rocinante_ ’s access ramp. The tattooed woman fell in beside me.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Fuck off,” she said, ending our conversation.

We found Murtock in the cargo hold, shifting crates and equipment. I saw a ragged-looking human male: an unruly sheaf of black hair, about a week’s growth of beard, a single hazel eye, the other eye-socket covered by a rakish patch. He bore enough scarring on that side of his face to convince me that he had lost the eye entirely. He wore a battered pilot’s coverall, and carried a well-maintained shotgun slung over his shoulder. He smiled warmly when he saw us approach, and it took me a moment to realize that he meant that smile for the tattooed woman.

“Here’s the blue bitch,” she announced.

His voice was a smooth baritone, with an oddly musical accent I had never heard before. “Thanks, Jack. How is the welding coming?”

“Be done in half an hour.”

“Good. Why don’t you get back to that – and keep an eye on our visitor’s friends while you’re at it?”

“You got it,” said Jack, shooting me one more hostile glance before she turned to go.

Murtock waited until she had gone, then turned back to me. “You’ll have to forgive Jack. She’s something of a blunt instrument, but she’s good crew.”

“She didn’t bother me,” I told him.

“Good,” he said quietly, extending his hand. “I’m Colin Murtock.”

I shook his hand firmly. “Kalliste Renai.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise. “I’ve heard that name. So Aria sent you to ask about the job I’ve signed up for?”

“That’s right.”

“You have a combat-ready ship?”

I nodded. “ _Ereshkigal_. She’s a modified _Martis_ -class corvette, normal-space drives capable of about two standard gees acceleration on a normal load, beta-level kinetic barriers with a core shunt to bump them up to alpha for short periods, two Armax Arsenal B15 cannon.”

“Your crew?”

“Five, including me. Two asari, a turian, a quarian, and a human. The turian is a master-rated combat pilot, the rest of us are at least competent. The team has good combat skills.”

“I should think so, if you were willing to match them against Eclipse. Outnumbered, too, from what I heard.”

I decided that Kalliste would be a little arrogant at this point. “You heard right.”

“Okay. You don’t mind a bit of piracy? High risk, high reward?”

I grinned at him. “Just point us at the target and say _go_.”

“Good enough for me. I’m not the money man, though, so I’ll need to check in. Can you be ready to fly in six hours?”

“I can be ready to fly in _one_.” I assumed a crafty expression. “Just how big _is_ this job?”

“Pretty big. There are three other ships involved that I know of. We’ll be out in the black for about a week. I can’t say for sure what you’ll be offered.”

“For a week’s work, including combat? Better be at least a quarter million.”

He gave me a reassuring smile. “I can pass that along.”

“Do that. Anything else I need to know?”

“I don’t think so. I’ll call you as soon as I know more.”

I shook his hand again. “All right, we’re going back to our ship to get prepped. I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”

I left _Rocinante_ , ignoring a final parting sneer from Jack. My team still waited where I had posted them. All five of us set out to return to _Themis_.

“Did you get it?” I asked Arin quietly.

He only nodded in grim satisfaction.

* * *

After we reached _Themis_ , I set Quintus and Vara to make visible preparations for the benefit of any observers. Inside the ship, Arin sat down in his cubicle and began tapping at his workstation, while Yevgeni and I crowded in behind him.

“I’m in,” the quarian announced after a few moments. “ _Rocinante_ ’s onboard computer has been subverted.”

“How likely are they to detect it?” I asked.

“Given the level of defenses I saw on the way in? No chance at all.” Arin shrugged. “I don’t think Murtock and his crew have any cyberwarfare skills, and their on-board VI is crude. I’m surprised they haven’t been owned many times over by now.”

“A lot of independent operators are like that,” said Yevgeni. “They don’t have any cyberwarfare training, so they buy off-the-shelf firewalls and malware scanners and hope for the best. That’s usually good enough unless they run into someone like Arin here.”

A light blinked on Arin’s console. “Here we go,” he said, punching in a command code.

“Split screen and record,” I murmured.

Murtock’s face appeared on one side of the screen. After a moment, the other side lit up with the image of . . . a volus. I grumbled under my breath.

 _Almost certainly not the mastermind, only a link in the chain_.

“I have another recruit,” said Murtock.

“Who is it?” asked the volus.

Arin opened another window and began to trace the communication to its destination.

“An asari named Kalliste Renai. She has an armed corvette, a little faster and better gunned than mine, with a crew of five.”

The volus bobbed slightly in satisfaction. “Good, good . . . if you are certain . . . that she is reliable.”

Murtock nodded. “I’ve checked. She has a reputation.”

“How much does she want . . . for the job?”

“She mentioned a figure of a quarter million.”

Arin turned to glance up at me and make a gesture indicating success. I nodded.

“That would be acceptable,” said the volus. “I will wire the money . . . to your account at once . . . On another matter . . . I must change our timetable . . . I have another recruit on the way . . . They will arrive at Omega in eight hours . . . after which we will launch the mission.”

“That works for me. I need a few hours anyway, to finish repairs after the last job.”

“Good profits to you, then . . . I will be in touch.”

Murtock smiled. “Good profits, mate.”

 _Blink. Blink_. Both sides of the call were terminated.

“Well?” I asked Arin.

“The volus was a banker and financial broker named Bel Torvan,” the quarian reported. “He has an office here on Omega, and that’s where he took the call.”

“I know him slightly,” said Yevgeni. “He’s got a reputation for being reliable and honest. A lot of off-Omega interests use him as an agent.”

Just then the ship’s VI chimed. “Call for Kalliste Renai.”

“That didn’t take long. I’ll take it in the cockpit,” I commanded.

Six steps down the main corridor, and I slid into the pilot’s seat. I touched a control pad to accept the call. “Renai.”

Murtock’s face appeared in a window before me. “I’ve talked to the money,” he said without preamble. “You’re in.”

“How much?”

He looked mildly sorrowful. “I’m afraid I couldn’t get them to go beyond two-twenty. I did my best.”

 _What a brazen liar you are_ , I thought, not without some admiration. I let Kalliste’s face lapse into a scowl of frustration. “Damn. That won’t be enough to pay my bills. You think there will be any more work after this mission?”

“Probably. This is our third run, and I haven’t heard that the ticket is about to run out any time soon.”

I feigned reluctance. “All right. Two hundred twenty thousand it is, but I’m going to want to talk to the money myself next time.”

“Fair enough. The timetable has changed a bit. You’ll have eight hours to get ready.”

I sneered. “That long? I think I may go take a nap.”

“Just so you’re ready to launch when the word comes.”

“We’ll be ready.” I cut the connection.

“Little _bosh’tet_ ,” observed Arin.

“Easy, _droog_. It’s not like we need the money,” said Yevgeni.

I turned in my chair to look at them, where they stood crowded in the main corridor. “Eight hours. Arin, can you find out what Torvan’s office hours are like?”

Arin opened his omni-tool, accessed the Omega public net, and made a query. After a moment he nodded. “Yes, ma’am. He’s close to the end of his posted business day.”

I turned to Yevgeni with a small smile. “How do you feel about a little breaking and entering?”

He looked dour, but I saw a twinkle in his eye. “It seems tame after a career in kidnapping, assassination, and terrorism.”

“Well, we work our way up by small steps.” I stood and clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s get Vara and Quintus in here. We have an operation to plan.”


	17. False Flags

**_20 November 2183, Azera District/Omega_ **

Bel Torvan kept his office in the Azera District, a commercial zone, surprisingly clean and prosperous for Omega. The Blue Suns currently claimed the district under their “protection,” using it as a storage and transfer point for smuggling activities. The mercenaries posted guards at entrances to the district, and mounted frequent patrols in the streets. Fortunately no less than three popular nightclubs also existed in the district, so the Blue Suns often saw strangers moving in and out.

Vara, Yevgeni, and I made ourselves highly visible at the entrance: a well-dressed human male with _two_ attractive asari in tow, out for a night of clubbing and entertainment. The turian guards looked bored (and slightly envious of Yevgeni) as they cursorily checked our false ID and waved us through.

I drove our rented aircar down the street, turning to park in a darkened alley, not far from the building where Torvan kept his office. “Quintus?”

 _“No trouble. On our way,”_ said the turian.

A few minutes later, a rented truck appeared in our alley as well. The back doors opened and Quintus peered out. The rest of us climbed inside.

“Pretty lax,” observed Quintus. “They just scanned the truck from the outside, got a sensor return consistent with _electronic parts_ , and sent us on our way.”

“This isn’t Terapso,” I said. “They don’t have an emergent AI helping them run a panopticon.”

“You’d think they would at least take a moment to open the doors and look inside.”

“Fortunately they don’t have you to run their security,” I said warmly. “Let’s get dressed.”

We felt cramped inside the truck’s cargo compartment, even though Arin had already finished preparing and moved up front to watch for patrols. Quintus watched with appreciation as Vara and I stripped down to put on battle dress. Yevgeni blushed slightly and turned away.

 _My battle-hardened terrorist and spy is shy_ _. Come, Yevgeni, this is nothing you haven’t seen before. Not unless Aspasia is being unusually slow and methodical with you_.

I must admit, when I was young I found human nudity taboos endlessly amusing.

We finished arming ourselves, and emerged from the truck to take up positions in the alley. Arin tapped at his omni-tool for a few moments, then waved his arm in the general direction of our target building. “Okay. Their security cameras are not exactly top-of-the-line. I’ve got them on a loop.”

We moved to the back entrance of the building. I found the lock simple enough and hacked it open, while Arin probed the building’s internal security web. In a moment he nodded, I opened the door quietly, and we passed inside.

“Stairwell, to the left,” murmured Quintus.

Moving slowly and silently, we made our way into the stairwell and began to climb, stopping at regular intervals to listen. We couldn’t guess whether anyone might be working late. One encounter with a char crew could wreck our whole mission.

Fifth floor. We stepped out into the main corridor like ghosts.

Bel Torvan’s office stood three doors down. This time I let Arin hack the door open. Inside we found a simple office suite: waiting and reception room, outer office, inner office. The outer rooms boasted decoration in an odd mix of asari and turian styles, in clashing colors. The inner office looked purely volus, weird abstract paintings on the walls, half-melted-looking sculptures on the side tables.

While the others stood sentry, Arin and I crouched by Torvan’s desk and got started attacking the volus’s stand-alone network.

We made slow progress. It took us fifteen minutes, then thirty, easing past Torvan’s defenses one stage at a time. His firewalls were superb, and he had a tripwire program to watch the integrity of critical system files as well. Arin had to corrupt the tripwire almost one byte at a time, before it would permit us to subvert the operating system without raising an alarm. Finally we had a backdoor firmly planted in Torvan’s system, the system itself so thoroughly corrupted that the backdoor was effectively invisible.

Arin gave a sigh of relief. “Okay, we can start data-mining now. What are we after?”

“We need to find the money that Torvan wired to Murtock for us, and then trace it back to its source. We should look for any other transactions involving the same accounts. Also any communications with Illium that correlate with past pirate attacks.”

“Right.” Arin tapped at his omni-tool. “Here, Dcotor, I’ve given you access as well. I’ll look for the money transactions, you look for the comm records.”

Ten more minutes of work. I began to feel extremely anxious. Every minute increased the chance that _something_ would go wrong.

I hit useful data first: a series of communications from Illium to Torvan’s office. An asari dictated mission profiles, confirmed financial transactions, offered advice and correction after pirate raids. I didn’t recognize the asari, but she had a very striking and distinctive appearance, with a garish array of _crimson_ facial markings. I noticed another detail as I spot-checked communications from that source. The unidentified asari sometimes read from a datapad while she spoke to Bel Torvan. On the back of that datapad I saw a sticker with a logo on it: a solar disk with a stylized _E_ inside.

 _Eclipse_.

“I have it,” said Arin a few moments later. “Account and routing numbers for the transactions.”

“All right. Let’s pack up and go.”

We left Torvan’s office, collecting the others along the way. Quintus seemed rather agitated, glancing around and listening to his helmet radio as we moved.

“That’s torn it,” he said as we opened the stairwell. “I’m picking up Blue Suns chatter. Someone reported _suspicious vehicles_ in the alley where we left the car and truck.”

“Then let’s move,” I ordered.

We moved, out the back door and into the alley where we had left our vehicles, silently and under cover. As we approached, Quintus and I took the lead and kept a careful watch. Sure enough, I spotted two humans and a turian in Blue Suns uniforms, examining the truck. I read rank insignia: the turian held sergeant’s rank, the humans were rank-and-file soldiers.

I caught the attention of my team, held up three fingers, pointed at Yevgeni and Vara and indicated that they should move to one side. I waited as they complied, then I held up a fist for a moment before dropping it twice for a _move-out_ signal.

Yevgeni and Vara appeared first by about two seconds, causing the Blue Suns to turn abruptly in their direction and draw weapons. That gave Quintus the chance to point his rifle at their backs. I used a momentary biotic surge to flash-step close to the turian and press the muzzle of my Shuriken into the back of his skull.

“You want to drop your weapons,” I informed him quietly.

Discretion proved the better part of valor. Rifles and sidearms hit the deck plating. Quintus collected weapons while Arin disabled their helmet radios.

“Have you reported in yet?” I asked the turian, putting on my most dangerous Kalliste face.

“Screw you,” he said.

“Wrong answer,” I told him, placing the muzzle of my sidearm between his eyes.

“Jesus, lady, it was just a routine call!” said one of the humans tensely. “We didn’t find nothing.”

I nodded in satisfaction. “Good. Then there’s no reason for any of you men to die today.”

“Shit,” said the turian. “What do you want?”

“I plan to go about my business.” I pointed. “Your weapons will be over in that waste bin. Wait five minutes before you retrieve them and you can be on your way.”

He glared. “All right, but I’ll remember you.”

“I’m sure you have _no idea_ how often people tell me that.” I turned to my team. “Set the car for auto-return to the rental shop. We’ll all take the truck.”

Quintus and I held our weapons on the Blue Suns while we backed into the cargo compartment of the truck. Above us, the rented aircar rose out of the alley on autopilot . . .

 _Slam_. A concussion of light, heat, and shock. The aircar had exploded.

“Arin!” I shouted. “ _Drive!_ ”

The Blue Suns dashed for the waste bin as soon as our weapons were no longer on them. Quintus lunged for the truck’s rear doors. My heart leapt as he almost tumbled out of the vehicle – but then he recovered and slammed the doors shut. Well, almost shut. The latches didn’t quite engage.

“Two Blue Suns aircars!” shouted Yevgeni from the front compartment. “They got our car with a rocket!”

The truck slammed into _something_ , throwing Quintus, Vara and me off our feet. We struggled to regain our balance as a tremendous hammering sound echoed through the compartment. A row of holes appeared in the side of the truck, but I heard no cries of pain.

Then Arin got clearance and accelerated madly, almost throwing Quintus out the back of the vehicle again as one of the rear doors flew open.

I saw a vista of Omega’s towers and buildings out the back of the truck, tilting madly from one side to the other as Arin maneuvered. An aircar swooped past the opening, and I fired my Shuriken at it without effect.

Quintus shouted. “Kalliste! _Down!_ _”_

I threw myself to the floor. Above me, his assault rifle hammered, tracer rounds reaching out the back of the truck and through the Omega sky, to catch a turian who had popped out of one Blue Suns aircar with a rocket launcher. The target snapped back, dropping his weapon to sail in a long arc down into the Omega streets.

Vara joined the fight, firing a heavy pistol from Quintus’s side. From my position on the floor I couldn’t bring my weapon to bear, but I could make a control gesture and send out a biotic warp. The field slammed into one aircar and sent it reeling.

Then the Blue Suns turned aside, abandoning the chase.

“What happened?” I called out to the driver’s compartment.

“Crossed the line into the Kenzo District,” Arin replied. “Blood Pack territory. Blue Suns won’t be eager to follow us here.”

“Assuming the krogan and vorcha don’t decide to take a few pot-shots at us,” muttered Quintus.

“We can be back in neutral territory in a couple of minutes,” I said. “Good work. Is anyone hurt?”

“Only my pride,” said Vara, nursing a bruise in her nether regions.

* * *

**_20 November 2186, Omega Docking Ring_ **

We returned to _Themis_ without further difficulties, three hours to spare before the pirate flotilla’s scheduled muster time. Arin, Yevgeni and I immediately got to work with the information we had retrieved.

First, I used a heavily encrypted channel to contact Illium and recover a dossier for the Eclipse officer running the operation from there. _Captain Tharenyi Wasea_. One of the founding members of Eclipse, a personal friend and confidante of Jona Sederis herself. Competent soldier and commander, _extremely_ powerful biotic. Seemed to have a talent for running Eclipse’s more commercial enterprises: smuggling, slave trafficking, narcotics, illegal technologies. Also, it would seem, piracy.

I suspected Captain Wasea would know the names of Kalliste Renai and _Ereshkigal_. I found myself hoping she chose not to supervise this operation very closely. Perhaps she would be content to leave day-to-day details Bel Torvan’s hands.

_Or perhaps that’s more luck than I deserve._

Now for the next question: was Eclipse the prime mover in the conspiracy against Matriarch Pytho?

Yevgeni had taken on that question. About fifteen minutes after I had finished reading Captain Wasea’s dossier, he closed his omni-tool with an oath.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Those account numbers and routing numbers? That’s all there is. Private accounts with the Bank of Illium. Completely anonymous.”

“Oh, by the Goddess.” I closed my eyes and squeezed the bridge of my nose between thumb and forefinger. “Well, that’s good news and very bad news.”

“Why is it good news?” muttered Yevgeni.

“Because it means Eclipse isn’t the prime mover. They would be using their own accounts if they were. We don’t have much visibility into Eclipse’s organization, so following the thread there would have been very difficult. The bad news, of course, is that we still have at least one link left to trace in the chain. That means we must continue to play at being pirates, longer than I hoped.”

“So what’s the plan?” asked Yevgeni.

“I am going to take a nap. In fact, I think we should all get some rest. When that last ship arrives, we take our place in the flotilla and follow through with the mission. We wait for an opportunity to trace the chain of command past Captain Wasea.”

“We follow through with the mission,” said Yevgeni slowly.

Something in his voice caught my attention. I opened my eyes and watched him, half-aware that Arin was also staring at me. “Problem?”

“If we keep on with this much longer, we won’t be _playing_ at piracy anymore. We may have to fire on unarmed merchants, or on the IDF.”

“Possibly,” I said flatly.

“Liara . . . are you sure about this?”

I sighed. I was very tired and not in the mood for moral debate. “Yevgeni, we are deep undercover. We play the role we’ve taken because it’s the best way for us to trace the pirates’ chain of command to its summit. If we succeed, then the piracy against Illium shipping will come to an end, Matriarch Pytho will retain her position, and _Illium will arm itself against the Reapers_ _.”_

“The end justifies the means?”

“Oh yes. Yes, it does. Just as it did when you abducted Martin Burns.” I held his gaze, using my best wide-blue-eyes stare. Violet eyes, actually, since I was wearing Kalliste Renai’s face . . . which was probably _not_ reassuring him. “Yevgeni. Trust me. We won’t get in too deep.”

“I don’t see how you can be sure of that, Liara. I’ve been doing this longer than you have, and I’ve seen operations like this go very, _very_ sour.”

“Go get some rest,” I told him gently. “Tomorrow is going to be here in just a few hours, and it’s going to be a busy day.”

He obeyed, but not without a backward glance.

* * *

**_21 November 2183, Sahrabarik System Space_ **

Three hours later, _Themis_ launched as part of a flotilla of five. Our partners were: _Darhaan_ , Karsom Taragash commanding; _Red Knife_ , Aziza Mkapa commanding; _Rocinante_ , Colin Murtock commanding; and _Seeking the Enkindlers in Righteousness_ , Abranalos commanding.

“A hanar pirate,” Quintus observed in amusement. “What _is_ this galaxy coming to?”

“I think we had better build up a dossier on Captain Abranalos,” I said. “I’ll bet you a hundred credits he’s an agent of the hanar government.”

“Hmm. I don’t think I’ll take that bet.”

 _Themis_ fell close to the median of our group for speed and firepower. _Darhaan_ was a full frigate with a batarian crew, and would probably take the lead in any attack, not to mention providing the largest share of any boarding party. _Red Knife_ and _Rocinante_ were smaller corvettes, most likely intended to provide simple fire support. A sixth ship waited for us at the Omega-2 relay, whose identity I didn’t yet know. That worried me.

Our five ships took up formation, boosted out of the Omega traffic-control envelope, and made an in-system FTL run for the relay. It turned out I was right to worry. When we dropped back into normal geometry at the rendezvous point, we ran into an outbound signal from an Eclipse frigate.

 _Kythera_. Commanded by Tharenyi Wasea.

I concentrated on keeping ice water in my veins. When Captain Wasea called the roll, I reported in without hesitation. “ _Ereshkigal_ , Kalliste Renai commanding.” I transmitted a file containing our ship’s specifications.

Wasea’s image on the viewscreen didn’t even blink. She simply said, “Welcome, _Ereshkigal_ ,” and then moved on to the next item of business.

“Okay, that’s a little surprising,” murmured Quintus.

“All that means is that Eclipse is capable of holding a grudge _quietly_ ,” I told him. “We watch _Kythera_ very closely.”

“No argument.”

“All ships are to form up on _this_ course through the Omega-2 relay,” commanded Wasea, as a waterfall of data appeared in a secondary window. “Our destination is the Tassrah system.”

 _Tassrah, in the Phoenix Massing_. _On the edge of geth space._ _A-class star, no inhabited planets, a useless system except for the presence of a primary mass relay. Perfect place for an ambush._

So it was. Over the next two hours, Wasea directed us through a chain of relays between Sahrabarik and Tassrah. Once we reached our destination, she positioned us about twenty-five hundred kilometers from the Tassrah relay, on a line between it and the distant primary star of the system. There we waited, all comm traffic and non-essential systems shut down, a pack of predators waiting for their prey to wander by.

I found it a quiet region of space. At that time there existed only three colonies in the whole Phoenix Massing cluster, none of them very large. Ships might pass through the Tassrah relay every three or four days at most. We could be fairly certain the next ships to arrive would be our target, but Captain Wasea didn’t know exactly when that target would appear. So we set watches and waited.

I passed the time by reading through all the data we had acquired from Bel Torvan’s network. There was a great deal of it. Captain Wasea and the volus had been working to hire pirates and coordinate attacks for months, striking targets scattered across almost half of the galaxy. As I worked through the data, two things caught my attention.

First, it seemed clear once again that Eclipse was _not_ taking the lead in this conspiracy. Wasea constantly referred to her “sponsors,” in a context that made it clear she was _not_ referring to Jona Sederis or anyone else within Eclipse. While she probably worked with Sederis’s permission and support, she was obviously carrying out this long-term mission on behalf of a third party, in the expectation of an _enormous_ payoff.

Second, it was equally certain that Wasea didn’t expect the mission to last much longer. As I read documents and listened to recordings of her conversations with Torvan, I got the sense that they believed success to be very near at hand. Matriarch Pytho might have waited too long before approaching me with her problem. I became particularly suspicious of the fact that Wasea normally did not come to command the raids in person. Her presence on this specific raid was very unusual. Did it indicate a desire to take charge of details as the overall mission came to a close?

Close to the end, I listened to one conversation between Wasea and Torvan that sent a chill down my spine. When it was done, I very carefully bookmarked that file in my omni-tool. I thought it might be useful, if things went badly in the near future.

* * *

**_22 November 2183, Tassrah System Space_ **

As it happened, Vara had the watch when things finally broke open.

“Contacts!” she shouted over the in-ship comm.

My eyes snapped open. I leaped out of my bunk and ran halfway to the cockpit before becoming entirely conscious. We carried out the change of command in seconds. Vara leaped out of the pilot’s seat to make way for me, then made herself flat on the corridor wall as Quintus rushed past and slammed himself into the co-pilot’s chair. Behind us I could hear Arin sprinting down the corridor to the engine room.

“Mass relay went into its start-up sequence about twenty seconds ago,” said Quintus. “And . . . there they are. Ships dropping out of the relay, three, four, five of them.”

A window appeared above my board, displaying Captain Wasea’s face and a set of coordinates. “All ships, the game is afoot. Come about to _this_ heading and accelerate at two gees, on my mark . . . three . . . two . . . one . . . _mark_ _.”_

I touched controls. _Themis_ surged forward.

“Targets confirmed,” said Quintus. “Four merchant ships, probably small freighters, accelerating at one-half gee. Fifth contact is a _Thalion_ -class patrol cruiser, coming about in our direction and accelerating at two gees. They’ve seen us.”

An asari voice broke over the comm, no image to match. “Unidentified ships, this is the Illium Defense Force vessel _Dameia_. These merchant ships are under our protection. Stand aside at once or be considered hostile. You will receive no further warning.”

I considered the tactical problem faced by _Dameia_ ’s captain. Her charges were slow, and they wouldn’t be able to reset their drive cores and up-shift into FTL immediately. It might take them twenty minutes to finish the task, engineers sweating and swearing at their machinery while their captains shouted into the comm to hurry them along. Swooping down at two gees acceleration, we could be at optimum range to rain destruction upon them in less than ten minutes. That left plenty of time for us to force them to surrender.

Unless _Dameia_ could deal with us first. One cruiser against two frigates and four corvettes: not good odds for the cruiser, but perhaps she could destroy enough of us to force us to break off the attack. So she would come out to meet us at her own top acceleration of two gees, hoping to smash us with her massed fire as we swept past each other at several kilometers per second.

I glanced at the tactical plot and ran a quick calculation.

 _Six minutes to intercept_.

One minute passed. Then two.

Suddenly Captain Wasea spoke. “All ships except _Ereshkigal_ , cut your engines and go ballistic.”

 _Kythera_ immediately fit deed to word and dropped out of the formation. One by one, _Darhaan_ first and _Rocinante_ last, the others followed suit.

I slammed a fist on the comm controls to open an all-ships channel. “ _Kythera_ , what the _hell_ are you doing?”

Wasea smiled at me. “That cruiser is likely to take out at least one of our ships, _Ereshkigal_. I’m simply choosing which one that will be.”

I was so furious that for once I didn’t have to _pretend_ to be Kalliste Renai. _“Screw that,_ Wasea. I won’t engage them on my own.”

“If you don’t, I will blast you out of the sky myself.” Her face lost its smile and became very cold. “Did you _really_ think that Eclipse would forget you, Renai?”

It might have taken me all of three seconds. One second for me to wrestle my anger into submission. Another second to coldly work my way through the variables. A third to reach a decision.

“All right, Wasea. You want us to soften up that cruiser so you and the others can deal with it without _exerting_ yourselves? Watch us, _coward_ _.”_

I cut the comm.

“Quintus, take the conn.” I opened the tactical plot again and slashed across it with a finger. “I want _this_ _.”_

He stared at me for a wild moment, and then began working his controls.

 _Themis_ shook as its torch drives exceeded their normal tolerance. We leapt forward, far ahead of the rest of the flotilla, surging to meet _Dameia_ head-on.

“Thirty seconds to optimum firing range,” reported Quintus.

I opened another window and began to furiously type out a message.

_Code words, message, encryption key, set radio frequency and configure for narrow-band transmission, be quick about it Liara but don’t make any mistakes . . ._

“Twenty seconds.”

I slapped the _transmit_ key.

“Ten seconds.”

“Quintus, target them _here,_ _”_ I said very calmly, calling up a schematic of the enemy ship.

“Aye-aye,” he said, his eyes widening in sudden comprehension. “Five seconds.”

I took a deep breath, held it, and released it.

_“Fire.”_


	18. Honor Among Thieves

**_22 November 2183, Tassrah System Space_ **

_Boom-boom._

A lengthy pause, as the twin cannon charged up for their next cycle.

 _Boom-boom_.

All alone, _Themis_ hurled death and destruction at a ship at least thirty times her mass.

_Boom-boom._

“Salvo of six outbound,” said Quintus.

Following the trajectory I had marked, Quintus had overloaded the torch drive, swinging wide of the head-on approach to _Dameia_ , and then spinning _Themis_ in space to bring our fixed-mount cannon to bear. In effect, we flew sideways through space at several kilometers per second relative to our target.

Then _Dameia_ fired as well, her spinal cannon many times the size of our weapons.

One hit would smash little _Themis_ from prow to stern. Which was certainly what Captain Wasea had in mind, when she threw us to the predators.

“Salvo of three inbound.” I pulled up the point-defense menu to designate all three of _Dameia_ ’s torpedoes as hostile.

 _Goddess, please let them have read and understood my message_.

“GARDIAN systems online,” I said, my voice absolutely flat. “Engaging.”

No organic gunner could manage point-defense fire. It was a matter for computers, for _Themis_ ’s on-board VI. Amidships an array of laser turrets activated, swung about, began to stipple the neighborhood with short, powerful bursts of infrared laser light.

“One down.”

Closest approach. Two hundred kilometers away, visible in the front viewscreen as a short bar of incandescent drive flare, _Dameia_ in turn lit up with her own GARDIAN point-defense fire. I barely noticed, watching our own status.

“Two down.”

Quintus suddenly yawed _Themis_ to one side and applied the drives, hoping to break the last incoming torpedo’s intercept solution. Then one of our GARDIAN turrets finally found its mark.

“ _Three_ down,” I reported, not bothering to conceal the relief in my voice. I turned to watch the tactical plot once more.

The cruiser’s point-defense array seemed no less effective. _Blink, blink, blink-blink-blink_ , five out of our six torpedoes vanished.

 _Dameia_ also slewed off her course and accelerated hard, trying to dodge the last of our salvo.

To no effect. The last torpedo slipped through their GARDIAN net and impacted _Dameia_ amidships.

My eyes grew wide. Across hundreds of kilometers of space, both ships maneuvering sharply, our target apparently making every effort to avoid damage . . . that last shot had still struck _Dameia_ almost _exactly_ where I had most wanted it to strike.

It flashed past the cruiser’s kinetic barriers, smashed through many centimeters of synthetic-crystal armor, and penetrated the hull.

 _Dameia_ ’s icon on my tactical plot suddenly changed colors, from orange to a bright crimson.

“ _Spirits_ ,” said Quintus reverently. “It worked. Their kinetic barriers are down.”

_Now, did we just score the most improbably fortunate hit in naval history, or did **Dameia** ’s captain take this opportunity to simulate weakness?_

I had no way to know. Nothing to do but to play my role to its conclusion. “Quintus, pursue and close. _Fire_.”

 _Dameia_ still out-massed our entire flotilla by almost four to one. Her GARDIAN array remained online, as did her spinal cannon. She could still fend off our attacks and wreck us in return. Until she withdrew, the performance had to go on.

 _Boom-boom._ Pause. _Boom-boom._ Pause. _Boom-boom_.

Suddenly the pirate formation broke up. Ignoring Wasea’s orders to stand aside, one of the ships surged forward, closing with _Dameia_ and firing its own cannon at her.

 _Darhaan_. The batarians had sensed weakness and gone for the throat.

“Aspect change,” snapped Quintus.

 _Dameia_ turned in space. Her drive flare grew in the forward viewscreen, longer and hellishly bright, pouring plasma into space in our general direction.

I drew the obvious conclusion. “She’s taking evasive action. Preparing to retreat. She’s a military ship, she doesn’t need forever to get her mass effect core ready.”

Quintus nodded. “Has to be. She can’t fire on us with her spinal cannon turned in the other direction.”

Sure enough, I watched as _Dameia_ applied acceleration and bent her trajectory further and further away from a head-on confrontation with the flotilla. _Themis_ and _Darhaan_ pursued in graceful arcs, firing at her . . . without any effect. Her point-defense fire remained effective, and we scored no more lucky hits.

Geometry warped around _Dameia_ for a moment, and then she vanished into FTL.

I decided to seize the moment, and opened an all-ships channel. “Merchant ships, this is the commander of the privateer flotilla. Your escort has abandoned you. Take your mass effect cores offline and prepare to be boarded.”

I could only imagine Captain Wasea’s rage. Especially after the merchantmen saw the truth of their situation, and one by one deactivated their drives. Obeying _me_.

Life in a pack of predators is a simple thing. Obey the alpha, respect your peers, demand deference from your inferiors, and share the meat with all. But if you _must_ bite the alpha, then bite _deep_.

Sure enough, within moments _Kythera_ came on the flotilla channel. Captain Wasea looked as if she wished to light me on fire just with her stare. “Renai, what in hell are you thinking?”

I stared right back, ice against fire. “I’m thinking that since you ordered a _manifestly stupid_ attack plan, putting not only my ship but the entire flotilla at risk, you are clearly not suited to be in command. If you want _Ereshkigal_ to complete the mission, it will be on _my_ terms from now on.”

“I can still blast you out of space, Renai.”

I smiled. “Not now that I’m forewarned. I will also bet that some of my colleagues are no happier with your stupidity than I am. Captains?”

 _Goddess, I hope I’ve read those four beings correctly_.

Colin Murtock chimed in first. “She’s right, Wasea. Six little ships against a cruiser? The smart thing to do would have been to go in together and swarm the bitch. What you did wasn’t smart.”

“It worked,” she snapped.

“It shouldn’t have,” said Murtock, his voice gone smooth and quiet. “ _Dameia_ should have been able to smash _Ereshkigal_ and then come after us with nothing but a little sharper appetite. _Captain_ Renai had the galaxy’s own luck. Not to mention big brass ones.”

“Murtock’s right too,” said a female human: Aziza Mkapa of _Red Knife_ , a startlingly beautiful woman with very deep brown skin, extremely short hair, and a predator’s sharp gaze. “I don’t know what grudge you have against Captain Renai, but deciding to exercise it in the middle of a battle was bloody idiotic.”

“This one is compelled to agree,” came a new voice, gentle and mellow, with no image. Captain Abranalos, of _Seeking the Enkindlers in Righteousness_. “Let us complete our mission, but let us do so under Captain Renai’s guidance. This one recognizes the mark of the Enkindlers on her success.”

I felt a sudden chill.

_Never mind, Liara, the hanar can’t possibly know that you have any connection to the Protheans._

_Can he?_

“Screw all of you,” said Wasea, looking cornered. “I’m in charge of this mission, no one else. You want to cut yourselves out of a share of the profits, that’s your call.”

“I don’t think so,” said Murtock, looking less genial and more dangerous by the moment. “You need us, Wasea, and while you’re arguing about it those merchies are thinking about how to put one over on us.”

“I don’t need _all_ of you,” Wasea growled.

“No, but you do need _me_.” A new voice, deep and gravelly. Captain Taragash of _Darhaan_ , the only ship in our flotilla that matched _Kythera_ in tonnage and firepower. The only other ship that had pitted itself against _Dameia_. His image appeared before us, a scarred and tough-looking batarian with his needle teeth already bared. “I don’t plan on taking Renai’s orders, but I’m not going to take yours anymore either, Wasea.”

“This one senses an alternative,” said Abranalos.

“ _That one_ is right,” said Taragash mockingly. “Five of us, aside from Wasea. It’s a good number for a council. She can make her _suggestions_ , but we’ll _vote_ on whether we accept them or not. If not, then we decide for ourselves without her help.”

“I could live with that,” said Mkapa.

“It is a pleasing arrangement,” said Abranalos.

Murtock looked at me.

 _Perfect_ , I thought. I didn’t really _want_ to put myself in charge of this band of lunatics. Outwardly, I put on a reluctant expression and shrugged. “I suppose it works for me. As long as the Eclipse bitch isn’t in charge.”

The one-eyed human nodded. “That’s settled, then. Now, we need to get those merchies boarded and pacified, and us to a quiet place to divvy up the loot. Wasea?”

The crimson-marked asari nodded, still fuming but realistic enough to recognize a solution when it was staring her in the face. “ _Kythera_ and _Darhaan_ will provide prize crews. When the convoy is ready to travel, we’ll depart on _this_ heading, a distance of exactly two-point-six-eight-eight light-years. If that’s _quite_ acceptable to all of you.”

Taragash stared at Wasea. “What are you trying to pull? There’s nothing there.”

“There will be when we arrive,” I said in a flash of insight. “You’ve discovered a rogue, haven’t you?”

Wasea only glowered at me in silence, but the others soon saw my meaning and fell into line.

Eventually I could leave my post in the pilot’s seat. I stood, stretched, stepped out into the corridor . . . and came face-to-face with Yevgeni.

“You knew,” he said, his voice halfway between accusation and admiration.

“What did I know?”

“You knew _Dameia_ would go down easily,” he said. “You had a code word for them, or some kind of signal.”

I smiled. “That’s right. I didn’t _know_ it would work, not on short notice in the middle of a battle, but it was the best idea I could come up with.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Matriarch Pytho gave me the code words, but only on the condition that I not share them with anyone. Even you. I’m sorry.”

He grunted. “Need-to-know. I get it. You still frightened all of us half to death.”

I patted his shoulder. “We’re not finished yet. There’s still plenty of opportunity for us all to die a messy, horrible death.”

“That’s _very_ comforting,” rumbled Quintus from the cockpit.

* * *

**_22 November 2183, Interstellar Space_ **

Eclipse had built their outpost on a rogue planet.

For every star born in the galaxy, a hundred smaller bodies coalesce out of the same nursery clouds, too small to ignite their own fusion fires and shine in the darkness. Interstellar space is littered with them, the vast majority too small and dark ever to be noticed. One such was only a little smaller than Thessia or Earth, a rocky body sheathed in a thick coating of ices. Had it formed in orbit around a star, it might have ended with breathable air, oceans of liquid water, life, sentient beings to look around and wonder about the universe. It had not been so fortunate. Instead it wandered the galaxy for billions of years, barren and mournful in the dark. Then Eclipse came, and set up their pirate’s den in a valley beneath mountains clad in nitrogen ice.

Most of the time it was a very small outpost, no more than a dozen Eclipse soldiers and technicians on site. No doubt the garrison spent most of their time bored to death in the darkness and isolation. Then every few weeks the pirates hit a merchant ship or convoy in the Tassrah system, and the victors came to the rogue to divide their spoils.

 _Themis_ landed on a makeshift pad about two hundred meters from the entrance, not far from the position occupied by _Rocinante_. We locked the ship down, armed and armored ourselves, and walked out onto the surface of the rogue. We found Murtock and Jack there, already waiting for us.

“Mind if we walk in together?” asked Murtock. Jack only frowned through the visor of her helmet.

“Why not?” I said, affecting unconcern. “Safety in numbers.”

“Right. There are a lot more Eclipse and batarians here than I like if this all goes pear-shaped.”

The outpost itself showed signs of being hurriedly built and poorly maintained. Eclipse had cut corners. We cycled through an airlock and moved down a corridor toward the outpost’s central space. Once inside, Arin took the first opportunity to slip away and look for a data access point. The rest of us stepped out into the commons, a place for loot to be stored and shared out. We saw a big space, currently full of tense pirates: my team; Murtock and Jack; Captain Mkapa and two other humans, bristling with weapons; a drifting hanar with three watchful drell bodyguards; over two dozen rough-looking batarian renegades; and another two dozen asari, salarians, and humans in Eclipse uniforms. The merchant crews stood off to one side, in shackles and under heavy guard, twenty or so dejected-looking beings of mixed race.

We already heard a great deal of shouting. Captain Taragash apparently wished to renegotiate his share.

“You’ll get what was agreed back on Omega!” shouted Captain Wasea.

The batarian tilted his head to the right in contempt. “I don’t think so. Four merchant cruisers and all their cargo and crew, captured _intact?_ I’ll wager that’s a lot more than you expected to get. I want more than scraps from Eclipse’s table.”

I stepped forward and raised my voice, throwing Kalliste’s cynical drawl into it. “Let’s also not forget how we managed to capture those ships intact in the first place. Who took fire from _Dameia_ and who stood back safe, keeping everyone else out of the fight?”

Voices shouted on all sides, until Wasea held up both hands for silence. “All right, _all right!_ It’s true, the pay we negotiated with you on Omega was based on an assumption as to how much we could seize, and we did better than that. But do you really want to take hours or days assessing the value of these prizes, when we could be out there taking more?”

Captain Mkapa shouted, “I’d be the first one to suggest we go back out now . . . if I thought we could trust your assessment. As it is, I want to watch while you make the count.”

Wasea shook her head, almost wearily. “All right. If you want to waste your time, I won’t stop you. We’ll walk through the assessment right here, so everyone can see.”

I nodded to myself.

_She may think her long-term mission is almost over, but she still needs her hired pirates for a little while longer. We still have some time._

Wasea left the proceedings in the hands of one of her lieutenants and left the commons, barely concealing her disgust. Eclipse technicians brought out three big holographic display units, setting them up to one side of the commons where everyone could see them. Then the Eclipse lieutenant began to work through the list of seized assets, starting with the merchant ships themselves, building a running total of estimated value. For each item, the five captains would debate and vote on whether they would accept the estimate.

After a while, I feigned frustration with the process and loudly delegated Quintus to be my representative. In truth I didn’t care about the final tally. I only cared that the process would take as long as possible, giving Arin time to finish his task.

Captain Murtock remained embroiled in the assessment, so I looked around for Jack. I found her sitting on a crate to one side, looking impatient while she went through a maintenance routine on her shotgun. I wandered over to lean against the wall close by.

“Hey blue,” she greeted me, almost civilly.

“Jack.”

She frowned, looking down at her hands for a moment as she worked. “You know, that was a pretty ballsy stunt you pulled. With _Dameia_.”

“Wasea didn’t give me a lot of choice.”

“Still, you made it work. And you’ve been standing up against that Eclipse bitch. You’re all right.”

“Thanks.” I paused, looking out at the floor of the commons where crewmen from all six ships were watching the proceedings. I decided that I could trust her, at least for a short distance. “Jack, I think this is going to blow up shortly.”

She snorted. “No shit. Look at the numbers. The only ones who matter here are Eclipse and the squints. I don’t know what _your_ angle is, but Murtock and his buddy Mkapa are crazy if they think they can come out of this ahead.”

“Murtock and Mkapa know each other?”

“Yeah, they’ve run together before.” She scowled. “Might have been more than that. He doesn’t say.”

I nodded. “So long as you’re on guard. You might want to be ready to move _fast_ , and get your friends out of here when it all goes sour.”

Her hands stopped moving and she gave me a suspicious stare. “Do you know something, blue?”

“Just be ready,” I told her, and moved back out onto the floor. When I looked again, she had risen from her crate to stride over to Murtock.

 _Good enough_.

My timing was good. Only a few moments later, my helmet radio chirped. I held a hand up to the controls and murmured, “Arin, what do you have for me?”

 _“Everything you need,”_ came the quarian’s voice. _“Documents, video recordings, money transfers to and from the same accounts we’ve seen before . . . and a name.”_

“What’s the name?”

He told me. My eyes widened in shock.

 _“What now?”_ asked Arin.

I shook my head to bring myself back to the moment. “Can you get access to the displays they’re using here in the commons?”

_“I already have it. Why?”_

I opened my omni-tool and sent a file to him, the file I had carefully bookmarked out of all the data we had recovered from Bel Torvan’s office. “Wait about fifteen seconds, then break into those displays and play _this_ file on all of them. Then get out of here and back to the ship.”

_“Roger that.”_

I gathered Vara and Yevgeni, and we walked over to where Quintus argued furiously with an asari in Eclipse uniform and two angry batarians.

Just then some confusion occurred by the display panels, where an Eclipse lieutenant tried to regain control of her systems. Instead of the growing balance sheet, nothing but static showed on the displays . . . and then an asari face. Wasea.

Invisible to the viewer, a volus was speaking. Torvan: _“I’m becoming concerned . . . about the agents we are hiring . . . Eventually some of them . . . will compare notes . . . and realize what you are planning.”_

Wasea: _“That won’t matter. The mission is almost complete. When it is, none of these pirate scum will matter any longer. We can dispose of them and keep the proceeds for ourselves.”_

I suddenly heard a great deal of angry muttering among the batarians.

Torvan: _“I must protest . . . I have other clients . . . and a reputation to protect . . . Not to mention that pirates . . . are known to take violent revenge.”_

Wasea: _“Don’t worry, that won’t be a problem. Haven’t you ever heard the saying? Dead men tell no tales.”_

Captain Taragash turned to the Eclipse lieutenant and shouted in her face. “What the _fuck_ is this all about?”

The young asari had gone wide-eyed with shock, but she slapped her helmet radio and shouted, “Case Red, _Case Red! Now!_ ”

Taragash produced a shotgun and discharged it into her face at point-blank range.

A _loud_ clatter sounded from all sides, as everyone in the vast room drew weapons at once.

A flare of blue-white light caught my eye. Jack stood by Murtock’s side, her own shotgun at the ready, doing her best to watch in all directions at once. She glowed _incandescent_ with biotic energy, just waiting to be unleashed.

Then Eclipse opened fire, and the entire room turned into hell.

My team and I dove for cover, finding a quiet space behind some crates, but a barrage from an Eclipse squad quickly pinned us down. Vara, Yevgeni, and I all put up biotic barriers, just in time to deflect a pull-and-warp combination from a pair of asari in Eclipse uniforms. We began to return fire.

“Hope Arin got back to the ship,” said Quintus.

“He won’t let us down. _Look out!_ ” I shouted.

Quintus ducked aside as a full crate of machine parts flew through the air to smash open behind us.

Eclipse tried to flank us, but Vara and I used a pull-and-warp to smash one of their soldiers into paste, and the rest fell back. Yevgeni slammed an Eclipse trooper to the floor with a vicious biotic push, and then riddled him with bullets from his sidearm.

I looked around.

Everywhere Eclipse and batarian troopers were locked in combat, with no mercy shown on either side. Eclipse flanked one batarian and shredded him with gunfire before he could reach new cover. A group of four batarians charged an asari position, two of them going down, the others vaulting over Eclipse’s cover, and then there I saw nothing but knives and blood. An Eclipse biotic flash-charged into the midst of a batarian fire-team, setting off a nova burst that sent all three of her enemies flying. A batarian stiff-armed a human in Eclipse uniform, and then blew his head off with a shotgun blast.

The human crews of _Red Knife_ and _Rocinante_ made good progress toward the exits, largely because Jack proved almost unstoppable. Her shotgun barked once, twice, and every shot took down an enemy. She made a gesture with one hand, almost-white light flared, and a batarian in full combat armor sailed twenty meters through the air. She made another gesture, and a salarian Eclipse technician rose into the air to be _crushed_.

_Goddess, she’s strong. Maybe stronger than me. Certainly more vicious._

I couldn’t see Abranalos or his drell at all. I hadn’t been looking for them for some time. Possibly they had slipped out several minutes before everything broke open.

Even the captured merchant crews had joined the fight, standing their ground against anyone who came near them. A few had seized weapons, defending their colleagues with desperate valor, firing even with shackled wrists and ankles. Others worked feverishly to free themselves. I saw one human use the opened shackles themselves as a weapon, swinging them to brain a batarian who had gotten too close.

The Eclipse squad that had us pinned seemed weaker . . . and then a flying wedge of batarians slammed into them from behind, firing at close range, stabbing with long combat knives. For a moment no one had us under fire.

“Time to go,” I ordered.

We ran for the exit. When we reached it I turned to stand beside Jack, acting as rear-guard for Murtock and the _Red Knife_ crew. We locked eyes for a moment, and then turned to face the carnage.

Two Eclipse troopers charged us, only for me to knock them off their feet with a pair of quick biotic surges.

Jack’s shotgun crashed and a batarian went down, his combat knife skittering across the floor.

Someone threw a high-explosive grenade in our direction. Almost too quickly to think, I reached out with my biotics and smacked it aside, sending it to land out in the middle of the battle. It detonated, catching three of the combatants.

“Jack! The airlock is clear!” shouted Murtock from behind us.

“Don’t have to tell _me_ twice,” she muttered. She turned and sprinted, as fast as she could go in a full suit, with me no more than two steps behind.

The airlock door was open. My team had already cycled through. I dove inside with Murtock and Jack, the three of us locking our helmets into place as the lock depressurized.

Murtock’s had a wide, white grin behind his visor. “Captain Renai. _Pleasure_ working with you.”

“Yeah. Although next time there had better be some actual money in it,” snarled Jack.

Then the outer door opened and we moved carefully but quickly across the icy surface. We parted ways, Murtock and Jack running for _Rocinante_ , me following my team into _Themis_ ’s outer lock.

I stripped off my helmet and tossed it to Arin as soon as I was inside. Then I rushed up the corridor to the cockpit, where Quintus worked to raise ship. “Report,” I snapped.

“ _Seeking the Enkindlers in Righteousness_ is already gone,” said Quintus. “ _Red Knife_ is ahead of us, _Rocinante_ is just a few seconds behind us.”

“What about _Kythera?_ ” The Eclipse ship was the only one that truly worried me.

“Still on the ground but powering up.”

“Then let’s get out of here,” I suggested.

“You got it.” He touched controls, and _Themis_ surged forward on its torch drives. The Eclipse outpost fell away behind us.

Minutes ticked away as _Themis_ climbed out of the rogue planet’s gravity well. I watched the tactical plot, wondering when _Kythera_ would appear behind us, bent on revenge.

Suddenly a new contact appeared in the distance _in front_ of us. A very _large_ contact.

The radio came to life. _“This is the Illium Defense Force vessel **Dameia** to all ships in the vicinity of the rogue planet. Cut your drives and stand to.”_

“ _Dameia!_ ” said Quintus. “How did they know where to find us?”

“When they disengaged back at the Tassrah relay, they must have micro-jumped. If they stopped just a few light-minutes away, they could have listened to all our radio chatter. Including Wasea’s instructions as to where the rogue is located.” I pounced on the comm panel. “ _Dameia_ , this is independent corvette _Ereshkigal_ , Kalliste Renai commanding. Code word _thanidaritamos_. I repeat: _thanidaritamos_.”

An image appeared on the comm panel, an asari face. _“Acknowledged, **Ereshkigal**.”_

“ _Dameia_ , the ships currently running for space are not your first priority. The captured merchant ships and crews are being held at an Eclipse outpost on the rogue. They were safe as of a few minutes ago, but the outpost is currently a hot zone. Eclipse troopers are heavily engaged with batarians in platoon strength.”

A predatory smile began to spread across the asari’s face. _“Understood, Captain Renai. Be on your way, then.”_

“Gladly, _Dameia_.”

A few moments later, _Themis_ up-shifted into FTL. Time to go home.


	19. Settling Accounts

**_24 November 2183, Illium Defense Force Headquarters, Mount Hyasteia/Illium_ **

Before the Reapers came and destroyed all of its gleaming cities, Illium had a positive obsession with altitude. Common belief held that the upper air was good for one’s health, complexion, sense of style, sexual allure, and raw intelligence. An office far above the aircar lanes showed great status. Millions cherished the ambition to live in the upper floors of an _ouranonikos_.

Matriarch Pytho scorned all of this, perhaps since she had lived on Illium long before the first of its sky-conquering spires. The Illium Defense Force headquartered in a low, blocky stone fortress set into the side of Mount Hyasteia, north of the center of Nos Astra. The Matriarch buried her personal office deep inside the mountain, protected by over a hundred meters of solid stone.

There she sat on a raised platform, behind a large semicircular desk, surrounded by holographic displays. The room itself seemed very austere: bare black walls, stark white lighting, hardly a speck of decoration to be seen. I saw only one concession to asari weakness, an image off to one side of the Matriarch’s desk, a family portrait. A younger Pytho in battle dress, flanked by two asari maidens in commando leathers, all three of them smiling broadly for the camera.

Only one chair existed in the entire room, under the Matriarch. I therefore stood quietly, my hands clasped behind my back, and waited as she read my report.

I watched her face closely as she reached the conclusion. Her expression did not change in the slightest.

“You are certain of this?” was her only question, as her deep-set eyes rose to meet mine.

“As certain as we can be, without opening Bank of Illium records to see who is formally associated with these account numbers. Bel Torvan used funds from the accounts, Captain Wasea authorized the transfers, and we now know whose instructions Wasea obeyed. The inference seems solid enough. Perhaps, as one of the Twelve, you can exercise your own influence on the bank.”

“I see.” The Matriarch sat perfectly still, like a statue of an ancient ruler upon her throne. When she spoke again, her voice felt as cold as interstellar space. “I concur. This is sufficient cause for me to act.”

“I am sorry, Matriarch.”

Pytho’s eyes flickered, and she shook her head slowly. “Your sympathy is misplaced. You also have nothing for which you need be ashamed. Your plan was audacious and clever.”

“Perhaps.” My gaze fell to the floor. “I wish I had been able to avoid attacking the convoy.”

“Little harm was done,” said Pytho. “Two technicians took injury aboard _Dameia_ , but both will recover. A few of the merchant crewmen were hurt, but _Dameia_ arrived in time to rescue them, as well as their ships and cargo. Several of the Eclipse sisters escaped, but we apprehended or killed most of the batarian pirates. We lost a great deal less than we might have.”

“I was very glad when _Dameia_ appeared,” I admitted. “I suppose it would be unwise for me to convey my thanks to her captain and crew, but if my recommendation is worth anything, you will reward them.”

Pytho smiled very slightly. “Do not presume to teach _me_ how to reward my subordinates for good performance.”

I bowed and said nothing, waiting to be dismissed.

“On that note, it is time for me to punish.” She pointed into a shadowed corner. “You will wait there, and watch.”

My eyes widened. “Matriarch?”

“Do not question me, Dr. T’Soni. You who have worked so hard to carry out this mission should be present when the objective is at last attained.”

I didn’t object any further. The corner where she posted me was quite dark, so anyone standing in the light would have difficulty making out my features. I would be only a shadowed presence.

The door opened. Another asari entered the Matriarch’s office, walking with a crisp military pace, stopping with exact precision directly in front of the desk. She stood at average height, athletic and graceful, clearly several centuries old, wearing an IDF undress uniform with colonel’s insignia. The resemblance to Pytho was obvious.

“You called for me, Mother?”

“Yes, Nikoleia.” The Matriarch called up a large holographic window displaying a series of numeric codes. “Do you recognize these account numbers?”

Nikoleia seemed unmoved. She might have been carved from _lapis lazuli_. “No.”

“Do not lie to me, child. I know that you have instructed others in the use of money from these accounts. Agents who have attacked convoys under IDF protection.”

“Who has told you this slander?” demanded Nikoleia angrily. Her eyes flicked toward the corner where I stood. “Is someone here to accuse me?”

“Your own words accuse you, Nikoleia,” said the Matriarch sadly. “You should have chosen your agents more carefully. I am in possession of recordings of your discussions with Captain Wasea of Eclipse.”

I saw it, the moment when the younger asari _knew_ there was no escaping her fate. Her face hardened into an expression of contempt. “Well, Mother, it took you long enough to piece the truth together. It even appears you required some outsider to assist you. More evidence, if any was needed, that you are no longer fit to command.”

“You believe that treachery and murder render you _fit for command?_ _”_ asked Pytho quietly.

“I was willing to do whatever was necessary to win,” Nikoleia grated. “Isn’t that what you always taught me?”

“I taught you to fight for what is _right_. Security. Prosperity. The rule of law.”

“Oh Mother, _open your eyes_.” Nikoleia broke her _attention_ stance and spread her arms wide in appeal. “Look at our world, the world we helped build. Look at Illium and what it has become. Cruel, corrupt, decadent . . . and _you_ are satisfied to defend the privileges of a rotten corporate elite. We have the power. We could rule Illium ourselves, make it a place where anyone would be _proud_ to live. We could rule half of the Terminus Systems. Do away with piracy and barbarism once and for all.”

Pytho shook her head sadly. “A noble vision. Unfortunately it is not one we can realize without drenching a hundred worlds in blood, Illium first of all. That is not our role. We are not conquerors or revolutionaries. We _defend_ , we give the beings in our charge a chance to live as they choose, and _that is all_ _.”_

Nikoleia spat on the floor. “I knew you would never understand.”

“Perhaps. It is a shame you could not wait a while longer, a few decades at most. You were my heir. Upon my retirement or death the IDF would have been yours . . . but you were impatient. You have always been too impatient for your own good. Yet another failure on my part.” Slowly, her eyes never leaving her daughter, the Matriarch stood. “Now, you will reveal to me who persuaded you to this conspiracy.”

For the first time, Nikoleia looked frightened. “No one. It was my idea alone.”

I blinked, startled. I had assumed that Pytho’s eldest daughter and heir _had_ to be the prime mover.

_Did I make a false assumption somewhere? Does Pytho see something I don’t?_

The Matriarch made only the smallest of gestures with one hand, but suddenly her body blazed with light, her eyes shining brightest of all. Quick as a bolt of lightning, her biotics lashed out and caught Nikoleia, lifting the younger asari off the floor and holding her fast. Nikoleia never had a chance to call up her own power in response.

Around the end of her desk the Matriarch walked, slowly, as if she had all the time in the world. I heard a crackling sound, and smelled ozone in the air.

“Who persuaded you?” she asked, so softly I could barely hear.

Nikoleia’s only answer was a terrified grunt.

“ _Who persuaded you?_ ” Pytho demanded. “ _Who?_ ”

“No!” Nikoleia screamed.

Pytho reached the spot in the middle of the room where her daughter hung in mid-air. Her right hand reached out and clamped onto the side of Nikoleia’s head, her fingers digging cruelly into the sensitive folds of skin on the back of the neck. Her corona surged out, surrounding them both.

Nikoleia’s eyes flew wide, too wide, a rim of white appearing all around the steel-gray rims of her irises. Her lips peeled back from her teeth. A horrible keening wail tore from her throat. She struggled, her muscles and tendons standing out, her own biotic aura surging in all directions, but she could not break free.

I gasped in horror, my hand leaping up to cover my mouth, but I couldn’t look away.

Pytho was carrying out a joining. With her own daughter. _Very much_ against her will.

In truth it must have taken less than half a minute, but at the time it seemed like forever. I felt faint and rather ill by the time the Matriarch’s corona abruptly vanished, leaving Nikoleia to fall limply to the floor like a sack of grain-meal. Pytho stood still, looking down at her daughter’s body.

Eventually I mustered the courage to emerge from my dark corner and approach her. I knelt at the Matriarch’s feet to reach out and feel her daughter’s wrist for a pulse. I found none. I tried not to look at Nikoleia’s face.

“Goddess,” I said at last. “You’ve killed her.”

“Not I,” said Pytho wearily. “She fought me, resisted me to the bitter end. She chose to die rather than reveal anything to me.”

“You really had no idea she was a traitor?”

“Perhaps I did. Thinking back . . . there were signs. Hints that she resented my decisions, that she had come to hold me in contempt. She was not always discreet. Always I looked the other way. I thought of the bright child I had raised, the young maiden in her first command, the proud matron with children of her own. I did not see. I did not want to see.”

“How did you know there was someone else involved?” I asked, standing and turning away from the horror at my feet.

“So there are some things even you do not know?” She smiled grimly. “I find that . . . somewhat reassuring. It was the money, Doctor. Nikoleia received a generous salary from the IDF, commensurate with her rank, but nothing more. She could not possibly have afforded to fund the scheme. Once it was under way the plot was self-financing, but someone had to provide the initial investment. Someone had to be prepared to step in with vast sums of money once the IDF suffered a financial collapse.”

I thought furiously and then nodded in understanding. “I see it. The plan was to drive the IDF into bankruptcy, after which someone else would make a bid to take over Illium’s defense. They could buy up the IDF’s assets at a fraction of their true value, get rid of any personnel loyal to you, and change policies to suit themselves.”

“No doubt they promised Nikoleia that she could take command of the restructured force, and pursue her own dreams of conquest. Poor child. She was always a far better tactician than strategist.”

I scowled in frustration. “But that means we _still_ have to find the prime mover.”

“That will not be necessary,” said Pytho. “If there are still traitors in my ranks, I should be able to find them myself. The conspiracy cannot succeed without them, so it no longer matters who Nikoleia’s silent partners may have been. You have done well. The IDF will purchase a gold-tier subscription from your firm, and hire your services as an adjunct to our own intelligence apparatus. Especially in the matter of the Reapers.”

I stared into her eyes, still dry and apparently unmoved by what had just happened. “Matriarch, why did you insist I stay to see this?”

“As a lesson, Doctor. You’ve done well in your new-chosen profession. The risk you run is that you may come to _enjoy_ it too much.” Her voice became very cold as she glanced at the pathetic bundle on the floor. “Never forget that power _always_ comes with a cost, and some costs may be more than you can bear to pay.”

“I understand.”

“See that you do. Now go,” snapped Pytho, the first hint of emotion washing into her voice, anger and terrible grief. “Contact me in a few days, perhaps . . . but for now, _get out of my sight._ ”

* * *

**_24 November 2183, T’Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

I returned to the office very late in the day shift. I looked over the current status of the Analysis department, and saw that Nyxeris had everything well in hand. She had grown into her new role very quickly, even in the few days I had been away from Illium. I sent a message to the entire personnel roster announcing the new contract with the IDF, and the day ended in celebration.

Aspasia declared that our senior leadership should revel by visiting the club after work. I felt reluctant, but when my friend was in full force-of-nature mode it usually seemed easier to accede to her whims. I lingered at my desk for a while, working through my message queue, but my mind simply wasn’t in it, so eventually I shut down all of my windows and left the office for _Eternity_.

Apparently I had arrived last. Quintus and Arin sat at a table, talking to a female quarian named Keetah from Arin’s department, all three with drinks on hand. Aspasia . . . I had to do a double-take. Aspasia had somehow found time to change out of her work dress, pouring herself into a gorgeous jade-colored silk gown, roughly the consistency of dense smoke. She slow-danced with Yevgeni, pressed closely into his arms with a rapturous expression on her face. He didn’t look rapturous, exactly. More like a gambler who could not _believe_ a sudden burst of good fortune.

I shook my head, smiling quietly to myself, and made my way to the bar.

Aethyta smiled at me. “Hey babe. The usual?”

“The usual.” I looked down the length of the bar and saw the last member of my leadership team sitting by herself, nursing a glass of Armali springwine. I moved down and seated myself next to her. “Nyxeris. I’m glad you were able to come.”

She gave me a very small smile. “I’m not staying long.”

“You should.” I picked up my tumbler of Scotch whiskey and sipped from it. “You’re part of the team. I haven’t had much time to talk to you since you took over Analysis. How do you find the new position?”

“Challenging,” she said, “but I think I’m beginning to understand it.”

“From what I can see, you are doing a very good job.”

Her color deepened slightly and she looked down at the floor. “Thank you.”

“Let’s plan to get together after the staff meeting in the morning,” I suggested. “Now that you’ve had a few days to run the department on your own, I want to know if there’s anything more I can do to make your job easier. As we continue to grow I’m sure you’ll want every advantage we can find for you.”

“I have some ideas already,” she said quietly. “It would be good to go over them with you.”

“Good,” I said, and then felt awkward because I couldn’t think of anything more to say to her. “I’ll see you then.”

She nodded, finished her wine, and abruptly stood to depart. “Good night.”

I watched, surprised, as she hurried out of the club.

“Friend of yours?” inquired Aethyta.

“Not exactly. She is one of my department heads.” I sipped my whiskey again and sighed. “Very efficient, but she’s difficult to get to know on a personal level.”

“I’ve noticed.” The bartender produced a damp cloth and wiped down the working surface of her bar. “She comes in here fairly often, actually. Never talks to anyone. Just has a glass of wine, looks around, and then leaves.”

“Odd.” I shrugged. “I’d like to make her more comfortable, but perhaps that’s something she needs to work on by herself.”

“That would be my guess, babe. If she’s doing good work for you, maybe you should just be a good boss for her and let the rest take care of itself.”

I smiled. “I’ve been trying to do that. I’m not very good at stepping back and letting other people do their jobs, I’m afraid.”

“How come?” asked Aethyta, looking sincerely curious.

“I’m not sure. Maybe it’s because I’ve spent so many years working by myself, or on very small teams. I feel as if I need to be personally involved in everything. It’s hard to let go of any of my control.”

“I hear you. I was never any good at that myself.”

I cocked my head, watching her.

“Hell, babe, I’ve done a lot of crazy things in my time, but for some reason I’ve never been in charge of anything big. I was always too damn independent, always had to be able to do everything for myself or I wasn’t interested. This bar is about the right size for me. I can stand at one end and see all the way down to the other end, and everything in between is my _personal_ domain. No administration, delegation, education, mediation, negotiation, or any other sort of –ation required.”

I laughed . . . then stopped, startled at the sound. Had it really been _that_ long since I had laughed?

“Thank you,” I told Aethyta.

“What for?”

“This was actually a grim day. I just finished a difficult business trip, and I saw something this afternoon that turned my stomach. Then I came here, and you were able to make me forget all that for a moment. Thank you.”

The bartender grinned. “My pleasure, babe.”

I finished my whiskey and walked over to the table where Arin, Keetah, and Quintus were sitting. “Gentlemen. Keetah, it’s good to see you. Where did Aspasia and Yevgeni go?”

“I think they were planning to go to his apartment,” said Arin. “Quintus and I were taking wagers as to whether they would make it there in time.”

I shook my head in mock disapproval. “For shame. _Gambling_ on such a sacred matter. Besides, if I know Aspasia, they may well manage once in the cab and then _again_ in Yevgeni’s apartment.”

Quintus hissed and rolled his eyes.

“Quintus. Arin. I’ve never properly thanked you for your work on our last mission. Both of you did extremely well.”

I noticed Keetah’s glance at Arin, the young quarian’s body language shifting, his pleasure at being singled out for praise in front of the girl. Quintus only nodded. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“That doesn’t mean any of you get to sleep in tomorrow,” I warned, mock-serious.

“I don’t know what she’s talking about,” Arin stage-whispered to Keetah. “I’m usually at the office an hour before she is.”

“The boss never gets any respect,” I sighed. “Good night.”


	20. The Depths of Silence

**_12 March 2184, T’Soni Lineage Estates, Armali/Thessia_ **

I rose before the sun, eating a light meal of fruit and _kostai_ -grain. Then I took a flitter down to the seashore. As the sky filled with light and the sun slowly rose in the east, I stripped down to a light bathing suit, went through a series of stretching exercises, and then set off down the beach at a run.

I felt as if I had wings. My arms and legs pumped, my bare feet hammered the wet sand, and sea air filled my lungs. A flock of little avians flew up from the water’s edge in a din of wings as I bore down on them. A wave rushed up the sand and crossed my path before it died, so that for a moment I splashed through the very margins of the sea.

 _Thessia:_ the place where my people evolved, where our bodies would forever feel most at home in the universe. The sea surged in our blood, the roots of the mountains rested in our bones.

I ran.

Back on Illium, I had to struggle to make time for exercise and martial-arts training. Three times a week I visited a _palaistra,_ where a grim-faced commando veteran kept me in form. I ran on a treadmill, worked with machines to keep up my flexibility and upper-body strength, and sparred with other students of the ancient _cheironomia_ discipline. I found it effective, but also quite artificial and mechanical and _indoors,_ a grim concession to the fact that Illium did not actually serve as an ideal world for asari.

At home, on the beach close to my ancestral estate, I could soar.

I pelted down the strand, maintaining the best long-distance speed I could. Beyond the edge of my own property I began to pass smaller houses and resort hostels on my left, piers for small boats on my right. Other asari began to appear on the beach as well: running, walking, preparing to sail, or simply enjoying the morning sunlight.

After about half an hour I circled the rocky headland called Timandra’s Point, slowing to a walk as I entered a tiny fishing village on its far side. There I exchanged greetings with a few of the inhabitants, and bought a glass of chilled fruit juice from a vendor who had been one of my mother’s friends. Once I had finished my juice and rested long enough, I turned around and began the run back to my starting point.

Back home, I decided to cool down with a swim in the ocean. Ten minutes later I returned to find that my flitter no longer stood alone. A second vehicle had landed beside it, an elegantly slender asari figure standing nearby. The newcomer watched as I emerged, dripping, from the surf.

“Sha’ira!” I called.

The Consort smiled. “I apologize for rushing out to see you. When I arrived, your aunt Kallyria told me that you were out taking the morning air.”

“No apologies are necessary. I would embrace you, but I’m all over seawater. I would ruin that lovely dress.”

She reached into the side compartment of my flitter and produced a towel. “If only all our problems were so easy to address.”

I smiled, applied the towel, and then wrapped it around myself before taking her into my arms and kissing her in welcome. “It’s so good to see you at last. It has been almost a year.”

“I’m surprised you would wish to remember that occasion,” she said quietly.

I understood. I had spoken to the Consort on a number of occasions over the past months, but the last time I had seen her in person was the day Shepard and I became _siavi_ -betrothed. Sha’ira had presided over the ceremony.

“You of all people know better than that,” I scolded her. “Isn’t it part of the _hetaira_ ’s art to recognize the transitory nature of happiness?”

“You know it is.”

“Well, for that day Shepard and I were happy. We knew we were leaving at once to leap into the fire. Even if we only had a month together, it’s a month I will always treasure in memory.”

“That’s very good, Liara. You’re learning how to be asari after all,” she teased.

“How has life been treating you?” I asked, releasing her and turning to put on my clothes.

“Well enough.” Her face lost its gentle smile, became somewhat grim. “Rebuilding after that terrible battle has not been easy.”

“I understand several of your acolytes were killed,” I said. I felt a moment’s pain. I had known one of the dead. Nelyna had welcomed me on each of my visits to the Consort’s establishment, and had witnessed and taken images during our _siavi_ ceremony.

“Yes. That was the first blow.” Sha’ira sighed. “Liara, in outward appearance the Citadel has recovered almost all its old splendor. There has been a great deal of rebuilding. Yet the mood has changed. Many humans have crowded onto the station, flooding into Citadel Security and the Council’s bureaucracy. There are more security checks and legal restrictions every day, and yet crime continues to plague the Wards. The elder races feel much resentment . . . and behind it all stands a shadow of fear. Few believe the Council’s assurances that all is well, now that the geth have been driven away. I hear rumors of war, and worse than war.”

“The Reapers?”

“Nothing so specific. With Commander Shepard dead and you out of the public eye, no one of any stature remains to advocate for the Reaper hypothesis. Few people take the notion seriously. Yet the war against _Sovereign_ was the Council’s worst failure in over a thousand years. Their strategy was hopelessly inept. They only escaped with their own lives because the humans intervened at the last moment. Now they seem concerned only to shore up their own authority . . . and to keep their new colleague, Councilor Anderson, in check. Their credibility has fallen lower than it I can remember in my lifetime. So naturally the galaxy fears what else may come, without them in control of the situation.”

I snorted. “My heart weeps for their _credibility_.”

“It should, Liara. If the Reapers come and the Council is unable to lead, we may be doomed.”

“If the Reapers come and the Council has _refused_ to lead, we are _certainly_ doomed.” I sighed and touched my friend’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. No doubt your own work has become much more difficult, with the Citadel in such a state.”

“More difficult, but perhaps all the more important.” She smiled at me, once more lovely and serene. “We do what we can. A gift of words, a touch of beauty, a moment’s passion, and we sometimes find we have inspired a bit of good sense and courage. So long as that remains possible, we will persevere.”

“I’m glad. Now that you’re here, perhaps we can improve our chances a little. Come on, let’s go back to the house and begin.”

Sha’ira had given me the first clue. We had first become acquainted when I learned she was the executor of my mother’s estate. On that occasion she had given me a gift, a small artifact that had been in the possession of her lineage for over four thousand years. I had immediately recognized it as Prothean in origin. Later I had been able to use it to unlock a major Prothean site on the planet Eletania.

If Sha’ira was correct, that artifact had come to Thessia long before we asari attained interstellar or even interplanetary travel. The deduction seemed obvious. It had been left on our homeworld by Protheans who had visited there in the distant past.

Several times I had wished to investigate more closely, but other matters had always seemed more pressing. First there had been Shepard’s mission, then the quest to recover his remains after his death, then the months-long struggle to establish T’Soni Analytics.

Now the brokerage was running smoothly and profitably at last. For a few weeks, I could leave it in the capable hands of Aspasia and Nyxeris and see to other projects. Like this one: finally tracking down the source of Sha’ira’s heirloom, and seeing if we could uncover other evidence of Prothean involvement in asari prehistory.

Such a discovery would have profound impact. I hoped it would grant us some new insight on our place in the cosmos. We might find that the Protheans had _helped_ our ancestors, passed on some of their wisdom and enlightenment. We might even find that our ancestors had some experience of the Reapers in the previous cycle. Anything we discovered might be of some use in persuading my people to take the Reapers seriously. Meanwhile I could use my time on Thessia to good effect, speaking privately with Matriarchs and other opinion-shapers who might be open to argument.

I had such high hopes for our success. It only goes to demonstrate: one can be a successful scientist and corporate leader and _still_ be hopelessly naïve.

At the time I knew no better. So when Sha’ira and I rode our flitters back to the T’Soni manor house I felt eager to begin our investigation.

There we met my Aunt Kallyria, conversing over a meal with my other house-guest. Dr. Athana Orysae looked more like a child-care provider than a scientist, a short and rather plump asari in her matron years. Yet she was Thessia’s foremost expert on asari prehistory, studying genetic and linguistic variation in asari populations. With such evidence she had been able to trace ancient migrations across the face of Thessia, stretching back over hundreds of thousands of years.

Athana had attended my academic conference on the Prothean extinction. She had approached me, bursting with ideas as to how to prove the Reaper hypothesis. When I suggested that her expertise might be useful to my current investigation, she came running.

* * *

Kallyria had already made introductions when Sha’ira had arrived, so the four of us retired at once to the laboratory, an old workroom I had set up for scientific research. There I produced the artifact: a smooth cylinder, just small enough to fit in the palm of one hand, made of a metallic material I had never been able to identify, with a fine inscription in Prothean characters along one side. I placed it on a work table in the center of the room, and directed a lamp to illuminate it brightly. Kallyria and Athana had never seen it before, so they bent to examine it closely.

“Interesting,” said Athana at last. “It certainly doesn’t appear to have any mechanism. Have you deep-scanned it?”

“Yes, Doctor. As far as I can tell, it’s a solid cylinder. I suspect there may be data encoded inside, possibly on the atomic level, which the machines on Eletania could read.”

“What about the script on the side?”

“It’s nothing but a string of numbers. I’ve never been able to determine their meaning. The whole artifact may be nothing but the equivalent of a digital key. Or perhaps a personal ID card.”

Athana glanced at me, startled. “You can read Prothean?”

“Yes. The Thorian creature on Feros absorbed that knowledge before the Prothean extinction. It later shared that knowledge with Shiala Veratis, one of my mother’s acolytes. Shiala later shared the knowledge with Saren Arterius and Commander Shepard . . . and Shepard shared it with me.”

“I see. Saren and Commander Shepard are both dead, of course. What about this Shiala?”

I kept a moment’s pain under control. “She still lives and is working to support the human colony on Feros, as far as I know.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t shared this knowledge more widely,” she rebuked me.

“It’s not as useful as one might think. It’s entirely passive. I seem to be able to _understand_ at least one pre-extinction spoken dialect, and I can _read_ Fourth Age script, but I can’t speak or write the language on my own. It’s a great aid to translation, but it leaves me unable to teach others.”

“Except through the joining,” she pointed out.

Kallyria frowned, clearly about to reprimand our guest. I held up a hand to restrain her. “Doctor, I am not prepared to consider that as yet,” I said quietly. “I don’t have Shiala’s experience with the meld. I only acquired the knowledge from Commander Shepard because we were very intimate.”

Athana immediately bowed and made a gesture of polite surrender. “Of course. Forgive me.”

I nodded in acceptance. “Perhaps we can invite Shiala to join us, if it becomes necessary. She could be here from Feros in two days.”

“No, I don’t see its relevance to our current inquiry,” Athana admitted. “What is important is the artifact’s provenance.”

“I can speak to that,” said Sha’ira. “First, I must bind all of you to silence regarding what I am about to say.”

One by one, we nodded in agreement.

The Consort bowed gracefully. “Very good. Then you should know that my lineage is that of T’Malion.”

My eyes widened in surprise. One of the oldest customs among _hetairai_ is to set aside one’s birth name and lineage, in exchange for a single _name of art_ under which the _hetaira_ will practice. Sha’ira was famous throughout the galaxy under that name, but few asari and no aliens would ever have known her original lineage. Even today I would hesitate to reveal it, were it not for that fact that Sha’ira has since passed on to the blessed shores.

Athana smiled. “Thank you, Sha’ira. That _is_ very helpful.”

“I don’t see how,” objected Kallyria.

Athana turned to a workstation and began to call up windows full of data. “Much of my work involves the tracing of lineages back into the distant past. The _names_ of lineages change, but certain genetic markers remain the same, passed down from mother to daughter across the generations.”

Kallyria frowned, still not understanding. “But our daughters also inherit from their fathers.”

“True. However, the process of mapping paternal DNA does not affect _every_ part of the asari genome. If it did, we could not mate with other species and still breed true as asari. Many sections of the genome remain untouched, as if we were entirely parthenogenetic. Meanwhile, we have the DNA found in the energy-producing organelles living inside all of our cells, and that DNA _is_ inherited entirely from the mother.” Athana called up a vast and elaborate family tree, zooming in on one branch. She reached into the holographic image, hesitated for only a moment, and then highlighted a single node on the tree. “Sha’ira, is this you?”

Kallyria and I stood back, respecting the Consort’s privacy. She walked over to look, and then nodded. “It is. I am impressed that you could deduce my birth-name from so few clues.”

“It was elementary,” said Athana, but she looked pleased. “There are only so many living asari who can claim the T’Malion lineage, at least under that name. And the aristocratic lineages keep such _detailed_ records.”

“How could you distinguish me from my older sisters?” asked Sha’ira.

Athana spread her hands, as if laying out the steps of a proof. “First children from aristocratic lineages rarely find the necessary vocation to become _hetairai_. In any case your eldest sister is much older than I know you to be. The only thing I remained uncertain about was whether you were the second or third child of your mother . . . but a salarian sired the second child, whereas the third claimed a turian as her father. You must therefore be the third child.”

“You are that certain my father was a turian?”

“Honored Consort, it is written deep in your bones for anyone who has the knowledge to see it.”

Sha’ira bowed. “It’s a great pleasure to encounter such expertise.”

Athana bowed in return. “Your exact identity isn’t relevant to our current investigation, of course, but it pleases me to be correct. Now, can you say when this heirloom came into your lineage?”

“I believe so. Here.” Sha’ira turned to another workstation and called up a text file. “This is a memoir of one of my ancestors in the direct maternal line. Unfortunately it is only a fragment of a much longer document, the rest of which has been lost. In the text which survives, she does not mention any of her blood kin by name. Her name was Kyanope ta’Malion.”

“Hmm.” Athana made a sweeping gesture, and the family tree before us flew downwards, narrowing as our point of view soared back into the past. With Sha’ira’s identity now obscured, Kallyria and I stepped forward as well to watch what Athana was doing. “I was afraid of this,” she said at last.

“What is it?” I inquired.

 _“Kyanope_ was apparently something of a traditional birth-name in the T’Malion lineage, for well over a thousand years. Look.” Athana touched several nodes on the family tree, each of them lighting up. All of them carried the same birth-name. “It isn’t very surprising. The name simply means _Blue Eyes_ in an old Arkadian dialect. Given how many asari have blue eyes . . .”

Kallyria snorted in amusement.

The scientist frowned. “Sha’ira, are you certain the lineage name at the time was _ta’Malion_ and not _T’Malion_ as we would write it today?”

Sha’ira nodded gravely.

“All right. Then we can probably eliminate all of the Kyanopes born after about 1600 BCE. The older form of the aristocratic particle had disappeared by then.” Athana used the controls, and the lower reaches of the family tree faded into near-invisibility. “That still leaves us with three possibilities. Let me look at that memoir.”

“Do you want the original text?” asked Sha’ira.

“Very much so. A translation into modern dialect would be useless.”

The Consort worked at her terminal for a moment, and then a different version of the text appeared. Dr. Orysae studied it closely for several minutes, one moment paging through the text at a frantic pace, the next moment stopping to closely examine a single paragraph or line. The rest of us watched. I experienced a rush of admiration, watching an extraordinary mind at work.

“I have it,” she said at last, turning back to the family tree. Her hand reached out unerringly for a single node, bringing it to the foreground for a close examination. There was a name and a sketch biography.

 _Kyanope ta’Malion_. Born about 2120 BCE by the human calendar, citizen of the _polis_ of Tegea, worked as a banker, served as head of her lineage for over two centuries, sired or bore several children, died about 1060 BCE. Sha’ira’s direct ancestor, thirteen generations back into the past.

“Why this one?” I asked.

“The memoir mentions steam-powered engines, which eliminates the earliest Kyanope of the three. Such technology was not available in her time. On the other hand, the dialect of the memoir is too archaic for the latest of the three. It must be this one.”

“It makes sense,” said Sha’ira. “The memoir doesn’t simply _mention_ steam engines. It states that Kyanope personally provided financial backing for several steam-powered railroad lines. It was new technology in her time, and even in this fragment she speaks several times of her enthusiasm for it.”

“What does this have to do with the Prothean artifact?” asked Kallyria.

Sha’ira turned back to the text, paging through it. “Here. She mentions receiving it from her father, who was also somehow involved with the growing railroad industry.”

Dr. Orysae immediately pulled up the database record for Kyanope’s father: _Xenia Pernassi_ , born about 2650 BCE, citizen of the _polis_ of Mantinea, worked as an engineer, killed in an industrial accident about 1930 BCE.

I frowned. Something about the dates bothered me.

Sha’ira continued to read the ancient text, summarizing it for the rest of us. “She had gone out to meet her father on . . . a construction site?”

Athana looked at the text, her lips moving as she parsed the archaic dialect. “Yes, _construction site_ is a reasonable reading.”

“Thank you,” said Sha’ira. “She had gone out to meet her father on a construction site, and he presented her with an artifact which she describes in detail. _A smooth cylinder, dull yellow in color, about one **detha** in diameter and four **dethai** in length, composed of some unknown but extremely hard substance, with a single line of unknown characters along the side_. Her father reported that one of the workmen had found it in a nearby stream bed.”

My eyes opened wide. I began to think furiously.

“She and her father had the workmen search for more artifacts, but they discovered nothing similar. She kept it as a curiosity. She does not mention it again before the fragment comes to an end.”

“She doesn’t say where the construction site was?” I asked.

Sha’ira shook her head. “I fear not.”

“She couldn’t have known it was anything more than an oddity turned up by a manual laborer. Strange that such a thing would have been passed down so carefully,” said Dr. Orysae.

“It’s not strange at all,” I said. “Consider the dates.”

Everyone looked at me.

“In the memoir Kyanope personally commands enough resources to finance a major industrial venture, and her father is still alive to supervise the construction. Yet from Athana’s data we know her father was killed when Kyanope was less than two centuries old. She must have been still in her maiden years when the artifact was discovered.”

Kallyria nodded. “I see it. How many asari that young manage to become captains of industry?”

I cleared my throat.

My aunt’s eyes glittered with humor. “Present company excepted, of course. I would still wager that Kyanope’s father was killed soon after the events described in that memoir. That artifact may have been the last gift Xenia ever gave her daughter. Of _course_ she kept it, and carefully handed it down to her own children.”

I felt a moment’s sadness, and had to look away. I had nothing so tangible from my own mother, only money and (one hoped) a certain amount of wisdom. Benezia had never been one for unique gifts or sentimental gestures.

“So where does that leave us?” asked Sha’ira.

I collected my emotions and set them aside once more. “It’s interesting that they found the artifact in a stream bed. That suggests that it may have washed and tumbled downstream from a greater height .”

“Can we guess where?”

“I don’t know. No one on Thessia has used the _iron roads_ in over two thousand years. They were all torn up and recycled ages ago. I’m not sure any records still exist of their locations.”

“Ah, Liara, there you are wrong,” said Kallyria. She moved to yet another workstation and began querying public databases. “This is a question of political history, and that is _my_ field of expertise. When our ancestors built the railroads, they needed right-of-way across lands that were already owned. Every kilometer of their path required negotiation . . . and eventually a vote in the assembly of one _polis_ or another.”

“Which would have been recorded in detail,” said Athana excitedly.

Naturally, it was not so easy. My aunt proved the most adept at searching through the records of ancient political proceedings, but over the next few hours all of us helped. As midday approached, we had the household staff bring in food and wine, and kept at our task. The afternoon was winding to a close by the time we finally compiled our results.

Over a span of two years, the assemblies of Tegea, Nyremis, Mantinea, Pylos, and Armali all voted to approve a single railroad line that would eventually connect all five city-states. Four of the debate transcripts mentioned Kyanope ta’Malion of Tegea as a financial backer of the venture. Three of them showed that Xenia Pernassi of Mantinea served as an expert witness. The date of Pernassi’s death came less than a year after the final vote in the Armali assembly. My hypothesis regarding the importance of the artifact to Kyanope seemed to be confirmed.

The specific right-of-way allocated to the railroad line was attested in multiple sources. We could trace it with some precision on a topographical map of the Arkadia and Armali districts.

“They skirted the edge of the Eramethos Mountains,” I observed. “That’s very difficult country. There must be any number of streams and watercourses coming down from the heights there.”

“Dozens at least. I keep losing count,” said Kallyria as she peered at the map. “Can we eliminate any of them?”

Athana smiled. “This is more your field of expertise, Liara.”

“About six hundred kilometers,” I observed, and ran a search of my own through the historical databases. “The line must have taken at least two years to complete, possibly more. If they began construction from the Tegea end . . . that’s rougher terrain, more bridges to build, more obstacles to blast aside. Slower progress, until they got down into the Armali plains. They were probably still close to Tegea when Xenia Pernassi died. Does that make sense?”

They all agreed cautiously.

I called up more data and still more, my mind flashing from one point to the next, making correlations. “A silver mine existed in this valley for two hundred years. They would have found a Prothean site, or at least other artifacts. Same in this area, where the Nyremian aristocracy maintained hunting lodges for over a thousand years. But _here_ . . .”

I saw it. High up in the Eramethos range, at the head of several of the streams Kyanope’s railroad must have crossed, I saw an area of several hundred square kilometers that must have gone uninhabited and unexploited since the Era of Stone Tools. For good reason. Vertical cliff faces, impassable gorges, dense thickets of woodland . . . without air transportation it would prove difficult to even _visit_ the area, much less set up housekeeping.

On Eletania, the Protheans had established their base in just such an inaccessible location. Only the Mako’s ability to drive up almost sheer cliff faces, backed by Shepard’s _insane_ driving, had permitted us to reach it.

“Kallyria, do you think we can arrange an aerial survey?”

* * *

Time for dinner. While Kallyria and Sha’ira left for the dining hall, I took Dr. Orysae aside and asked her to wait.

“Doctor, I wonder if you could look something else up for me in your databases,” I asked once we were alone.

“Of course. What are you interested in?”

“My own entry,” I said quietly.

She shot me a glance full of curiosity, but turned without comment to her workstation and began to call up records. “Here it is. _Liara T’Soni_ , born 2077 CE, scientist . . . what do you want to know?”

“Who was my father?”

Now she turned to _stare_ back at me.

“I only know that my father was . . . another asari.” I forced myself to hold her gaze rather than look away in shame. “My parents separated before my birth, and my mother never revealed my father’s identity to me. Kallyria must know, but she always evades the question.”

“I see.” Her voice was cool and impersonal, but I heard no note of censure in it.

“It’s not _that_ important. I’ve built a life for myself without any need for that contact, but I must admit to a great deal of curiosity.”

“I can well imagine. Let’s look.” She turned to the workstation again and tried to open the requisite link. Nothing happened, except a small flare of red light and a discordant buzzing sound. “Hmm. Matriarch’s Seal. I don’t have the clearance to see that information.”

“Who placed the Seal?”

Athana peered at the display. “Benezia T’Soni. Not a surprise. She apparently placed it the same year you were born.”

I shook my head in frustration. “Why was my mother so reticent about this? She never tried to conceal from me that I was a . . . a _pureblood_.”

“Don’t use that term for yourself,” Athana chided.

“Why not? It is technically accurate.” I sighed. “So be it. I’ll uncover the truth someday. I’m certainly going to have some questions for my father if I ever meet her.”


	21. Field Survey

**_15 March 2184, Eramethos Mountains, Thessia_ **

Three days passed before we could move on to the next step of our investigation. I arranged for the purchase, delivery, and setup of a large air vehicle and some specialized equipment. Meanwhile Kallyria exercised her political connections, discovering who claimed ownership of our target area, gaining clearance for an aerial survey and a possible archaeological excavation.

At one point I took the time to call Illium. It was after business hours in Nos Astra, but when I called Aspasia at home, she and Yevgeni answered together. They reported all was well, the firm was running smoothly, our customers were happy, no new emergency missions had arisen, _stay on Thessia and don’t worry, Liara_. I took their word for it and went back to archaeology.

While we T’Sonis worked, Sha’ira and Dr. Orysae found themselves at leisure, and I soon noticed them spending a great deal of time in one another’s company. They exercised discretion, but I think their liaison started on the second evening after our project began. The outcome left Sha’ira as serene as ever, but rendered Athana somewhat dazed – and rather egregiously pleased with herself – for several days afterward. I was somewhat amused, but not at all surprised. Both her profession and her innate _areté_ made Sha’ira a connoisseuse of brilliant minds and strong personalities, and Dr. Orysae certainly possessed both.

On the fourth day we all climbed into our new scout-van and set out for the Eramethos Mountains. One of the estate staff, an asari named Myriane, drove the vehicle. Blissfully inept in the sciences, Kallyria sat up front with Myriane and simply enjoyed the scenery. Athana and Sha’ira both took stations in the back, so I could instruct them in the use of the sensors and other equipment I had installed.

After two hours, Myriane called from the pilot’s chair. “We’re here.”

I poked my head out into the forward compartment. “Good. You know the plan. Slowly quarter the target area, at about five thousand meters elevation, while we work the side-looking radar.”

Back in the cargo compartment, I deployed the radar antenna and we began to scan the ground beneath us. A computer projected a topographical map of the surface, which slowly grew more accurate and detailed as we worked. With GPS data and the SLAR equipment, we could measure and model the terrain with a great deal of precision. The process took about an hour; the target area was very rough, and we had to traverse it in several directions to get a good map.

“It looks like beautiful county,” observed Kallyria as the map approached completion. “One could see most of Arkadia spread out before you from a vantage point up here. I’m surprised more asari haven’t visited.”

“There _are_ a few hiking trails in the lower heights,” I said, pointing to one edge of the target area. “Forestry lodges here, here, and here. One or two of these rock faces occasionally get visits from climbers . . . but that’s all on the fringes. The central heights are unusually inaccessible, and few asari have ever bothered to go in that far.”

“Do you suppose that’s deliberate?” my aunt mused. “If the Protheans built an installation in here, perhaps they carved the land to deter curious visitors?”

“I wouldn’t want to speculate. They might simply have looked for areas to build that were already as inaccessible as possible.”

Sha’ira frowned at the map. “It might have been both.”

I watched her closely. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m not sure yet. What’s the next step?”

I opened a window and began to type in commands. “Well, our next mapping pass will use much shorter-ranged sensors, so we must concentrate on the most likely areas. We can assume that the Protheans would not have built an installation on a steep slope. The computer will search for areas of at least a thousand square meters that are close to being level.”

The computer’s processing took only moments. Then the projected map was spangled with bright patches, perhaps thirty of them in all.

I sighed. _This is going to take a while._

I sent the map to the car’s onboard computer for Myriane’s reference, and began to activate the next set of sensors.

“Is archaeology always this dull?” asked Kallyria, an innocent expression on her face.

“Not at all,” I told her. “Sometimes it is _far_ worse. We’ve only been on this project for a few days. Imagine weeks or months of painstaking work before a single artifact can be recovered.”

“I’m disappointed. Perhaps we should try different techniques. I understand that _humans_ have a very interesting approach to the discipline.”

I glanced at my aunt suspiciously.

“Here, if we have several hours to wait . . . why not indulge in a little entertainment?” Kallyria opened her omni-tool and selected a file, sending it to an unused terminal in the cargo compartment. Sha’ira and Dr. Orysae turned to watch, bemused, as music began to play and the image of a mountain peak appeared on the screen.

“Oh _Goddess_. Aunt Kallyria, that is _not_ archaeology!”

Unfortunately the Matriarch was relentless, and it took only a few minutes for the others to become enthralled by the story. Eventually I moved to the front compartment and offered to take over as pilot, permitting Kallyria and Myriane to enjoy the vid while we slowly traversed our search pattern.

I might have known that Kallyria would be familiar with _Raiders of the Lost Ark_. At least it was the 2036 remake, with Miranda Attlee in the starring role. I suspect that Harrison Ford would have reminded me too much of Shepard.

It _did_ serve to pass the time. Even in the pilot’s seat, I could listen to the dialogue and sound effects and follow the familiar story. I tolerated Kallyria’s teasing about how attractive the protagonist was, and her promises to purchase a fedora, a bullwhip, and a chemical-propellant sidearm for me. After the vid was over, I listened as the others discussed the plot and what it implied about human history and psychology, reaching ever more bizarre conclusions . . .

When the deep-radar went _ping_ , conversation crashed to a halt.

I stopped the vehicle, hovering a hundred meters over an isolated shelf high in the range. With the cargo compartment already full of asari, I could barely crowd in, but at least I could reach the sensor controls. I called up our survey map, zoomed in on the area just below our current position, and began to overlay results from the deep-radar scan.

“I knew it,” said Sha’ira.

“What?” asked Athana.

The Consort shrugged. “When we first finished the map, I asked myself where I would build an installation to remain secret and yet have the most impressive view of the country all around. This place caught my eye. When Liara identified it as a candidate for closer search, I felt even more strongly that it was right, but I didn’t have enough objective evidence to speak out at the time.”

“An aesthetic judgment?”

“You might say so.” Sha’ira smiled ruefully. “I also could not be certain that Protheans would have the same aesthetic values we do. Another reason to remain silent.”

“I wish you had spoken up,” I muttered. “We might have been spared Indiana Jones.”

“What have we found?” asked Athana.

“Look here,” I said, pointing into the projected map. “A scattering of small but very dense objects, all across this small plateau. We know that Prothean technology made extensive use of platinum-group metals. Their technological artifacts tend to show up strongly on deep-radar. Like this.”

“Goddess, there are _dozens_ of them . . .”

“Don’t get too excited,” I warned her. “Myriane, set us down about fifty meters southeast, not too close to the edge of the plateau.”

“Right away,” said the pilot.

We all emerged from the vehicle and looked around. The plateau was perhaps two hundred meters deep, backing against the steep slopes of a mountain whose peak rose to the northeast. To every other side an incomparable vista opened out in the late-afternoon sunlight, spires and towers of stone, long ridges and deep valleys, all falling away to the Arkadian hills in the blue distance. Far away, almost invisible in the vast expanse, we could just barely make out the tallest towers of the city of Tegea. We stood above the tree line, so the plateau was covered by alpine meadow: thin tough grasses, tiny flowers of breathtakingly pure color, scrub plants, a scattering of larger stones. I bent and examined the dirt by my feet, sifting some of it through my fingers: dry and friable, a typical arid high-altitude soil. The air felt cold, crisp, and noticeably thinner than at sea level. The wind cut through our casual clothing and sent all of us to shivering after a few moments. Myriane went back to the vehicle and produced cold-weather jackets for everyone.

“Wait here,” I told the others, and began to slowly walk away from them.

I chose a straight path, a _transect_ , that would take me the length of the plateau. My eyes methodically searched the ground, and I dictated notes into my omni-tool as I walked. Occasionally I bent down or even fell to hands and knees, examining some object more closely, never touching or moving it, only noting its nature and position.

A fragment of glass barely a centimeter wide, discolored by age and exposure to sunlight.

A length of corroded copper wire.

A piece of some ceramic material, very thin and not quite as wide as my palm, smoothly curved.

Close to the mountain face, I found the first of many prizes. A blocky object, mostly still concealed in the dirt, only one edge exposed. It was the straight line that caught my attention. I broke my _no intrusion_ rule and bent close to reverently brush aside a little of the dry soil. Then a little more.

I had been studying similar artifacts for decades. During my few months aboard _Normandy_ I had recovered seven of them. It was a Prothean data storage device, abandoned on that windswept plateau for fifty thousand years. Dirt, water, and corrosion had probably turned its innards into junk, but there was no possible mistake. Anyone who had ever studied Prothean technology would recognize it.

I sat down cross-legged, resting my hands on my knees, my head spinning slightly. I felt very aware of the wind blowing, the faint smell of mountain flowers, the cool of the soil, and the faint wisps of cloud scudding by overhead. I stared at that little straight line, the edge of the ancient device where it protruded from the soil, until my vision blurred.

“Liara?”

Kallyria’s voice. She had disobeyed me and crossed the plateau, after she saw me stop and apparently collapse. I looked up, and only then realized that I had tears streaming down my cheeks. I scrubbed at my eyes with the back of one hand and looked again, seeing the face so like my mother’s, the face that could have been severe had she not been watching me with such deep concern. Wind pulled at the heavy coat she wore against the cold, and she brushed the hood aside from her face unconsciously.

My voice trembled. “Oh aunt. They were here. The Protheans. They were _here_.”

She knelt on the cold ground and bent close to examine the device. “It doesn’t look like very much.”

I smiled. “No, it doesn’t. You’ll have to trust me.”

“I do, of course.” She stood once more and extended a hand to help me to my feet. “So what happens now?”

“Now . . .” I took a deep breath. “Now I work the scientific community. We need a whole team up here, following best practices, surveying and documenting the whole area with the utmost care. Whatever we find, we have to minimize any possibility of doubt once we announce our results.”

“Do you really think anyone will doubt you? With solid evidence in your hands?”

I shook my head ruefully. “Aunt Kallyria, this will be the most startling discovery in Thessian archaeology in _centuries_. I can’t even begin to guess where the implications will reach. It may call into question almost everything we think we know about asari prehistory. _Of course_ people are going to doubt.”

“Then why bother?” she asked, a subtle note of bitterness in her voice.

I watched her for a long moment, as if I had just truly seen her for the first time.

In some ways my aunt wasn’t at all like her elder sister, my mother Benezia. She had all my mother’s gifts but none of her ambition. Even as a Matriarch she had been content to simply enjoy life, savoring the pleasures available in her station as a wealthy Thessian aristocrat. But then her sister had been killed. The new head of the T’Soni lineage was a mere maiden, who couldn’t be convinced to come home and take up the responsibilities of her position. Then, adding insult to injury, the Council had thrown the T’Soni name onto a dung-heap.

Kallyria had taken on all that responsibility in my stead, had become the visible spokesman for our lineage. While I traveled around the galaxy and worked on Illium, she stayed home on Thessia and defended us from our political enemies. Forced to listen to lies, slander, smug dismissal of everything Benezia had ever stood for.

No doubt it had begun to wear.

I reached out to embrace her. “Because it’s our duty to bring the truth to light,” I told her. “Because the truth _will_ win out in the end, if we have enough courage and persistence. Because even if no one else believes it, _we_ need to know the truth so that _we_ can act rightly.”

Suddenly her arms tightened around me, pressing me as close as they could. “Goddess. Sometimes you sound so much like her.”

My eyes closed in sudden grief, remembering a certain cold and terrible day on Noveria. _Now Benezia is dead,_ I remembered thinking _. I am her heir. Very well, I will have to be Benezia from now on._ Then I felt a sudden shock.

_Goddess. Today is the fifteenth of March by the human calendar. It was a year ago today, as Shepard would have measured it. A year ago that I held her in my arms as she died._

_It feels as if it has been much longer._

“Kallyria,” I whispered, “I’m so sorry I’ve left you in this position.”

She held me out at arm’s length, already recovering her usual cheerful disposition. “Don’t be. The work you’re doing . . . I know it’s important, and I know I certainly couldn’t do it. The least I can do for you, or for Benezia, is to hold the line here at home.”

“That’s a surprisingly _military_ metaphor,” I observed, giving her a small smile.

“Well. I must admit that I learned a great deal from Urdnot Wrex.”

I rolled my eyes in exasperation. “You did _not_ just go there.”

“I most certainly did,” she boasted. “ _Twice_. Come on, let’s get back to the others. Unless I miss my guess, we have a great deal of work ahead of us.”


	22. Symposium

**_Late March to Early May 2184, Eramethos Mountains, Thessia_ **

In the days that followed, our little plateau became a hive of activity. I soon discovered that I needed professional assistance. The T’Soni estate staff could provide logistical support, and Dr. Orysae quickly learned archaeological procedure, but I needed _experienced_ staff. So on the fourth day after I began the initial ground survey, I returned to Armali and made some extranet calls.

Aurana T’Meles arrived first, a dozen students and volunteers in tow. She was an unusually tall asari, not unattractive, but famous for her neglect of her appearance. She had never enhanced her natural facial markings, she never wore cosmetics of any kind, and even the scales of her crest tended to be dull for lack of care. She could usually be found in field gear, or in drab gowns of blue or slate-grey color. Perhaps not a _brilliant_ scientist, she still enjoyed a reputation for rigorous, methodical work and an absolute devotion to objective truth.

I hesitated to call her. When I attended the University of Serrice, she had served as one of my instructors and advisors. I had always carried a great deal of respect for her . . . but during my interview on _Agon_ , I had been forced to disagree with her in public. I wondered if she would hold a grudge. Yet when I called, she responded graciously, enthusiastic about the project and eager to come participate.

Thinking back, I realized I should not have expected anything else. Aurana always considered science to be a full-contact sport. In her opinion, if scientists did not engage in all-out intellectual combat, they failed to do their jobs. I had contradicted her in open debate, but I had done it honestly and in pursuit of the truth, and she had been more proud than angry to see it. When she arrived at the site, she immediately threw herself into the investigation in full cooperation with the rest of us.

The third archaeologist on the plateau was Garret Bryson: a short, rather ugly male human in his late middle age, with a weather-beaten face, a thin cover of silver-black hair, a perpetual case of beard stubble, and narrow silver eyes. He was renowned as one of Earth’s foremost archaeologists, a veteran of forty years of digs on a dozen worlds.

I had known Dr. Bryson by reputation for years, but had only met him in person at the Serrice Conference in June 2183. There he absorbed all the evidence Shepard and I had uncovered, accepting the Reaper hypothesis immediately and with enthusiasm. In our back-room conversations, he told me that he had actually _deduced_ the existence of something like the Reapers years before. He thanked us profusely for confirming his speculations, and swore to support our work in any way he could. When I called him from Thessia, he dropped everything and come running.

Dr. Bryson, Dr. Orysae, Dr. T’Meles and I formed a leadership committee, planning the dig and directing the efforts of Aurana’s students and volunteers. We completed a ground survey of the plateau with careful precision, selected places for our first sampling trenches, and began to excavate.

Very soon we began turning up tentative results, and we knew that asari prehistory would never be the same. We impressed the need for discretion on all of our staff, but even so gossip escaped the site. Within days, the Thessian scientific community began to buzz with rumors and excitement. Then the public caught wind of it . . . and our plateau in the Eramethos Mountains briefly became the center of the asari universe.

* * *

The Tegean city council first conceived the idea of holding a _symposion_.

Aside from a few security guards placed on the plateau, most of our scientific team spent their nights in Tegea, the major city closest to the dig site. We found it convenient. The flight by aircar took less than fifteen minutes, so we lost almost no time commuting every morning and evening. Our personnel didn’t have to camp out in bad weather. Meanwhile, I could spend two or three hours every night connected to the extranet, staying in contact with Aspasia, Nyxeris, and Yevgeni on far-off Illium. Finding housing for our team would have been difficult on a university budget, but compared to my profits from T’Soni Analytics it was a pittance. That was probably the most _comfortable_ archaeological expedition I ever organized.

At first the Tegeans took little notice of our presence in their city. Then, as the rumors began to fly about our discoveries, they began to pay more attention. I soon discovered, to my chagrin, that I was a local celebrity. I had a reputation for scientific iconoclasm, family ties to the great traitor Benezia, and a disreputable but very profitable business. It all lent me an air of controversy and mystery. The Tegean council saw an opportunity to profit, and contacted me to inquire whether I had any interest in a public appearance.

I turned down the idea of a solo speaking engagement, but when they suggested a _symposion_ I quickly agreed. I felt confident that I could hold my own in open debate. The _symposion_ would be recorded, and later broadcast to the extranet with Tegean sponsorship. It offered an opportunity to gain exposure for my views in a collegial setting, without distracting the audience with my personal history.

Eventually we and the Tegeans settled on a participant list. Kallyria would serve as the _symposiarch_. Dr. T’Meles, Dr. Bryson, and I would all participate. The Tegeans would invite two other participants, subject to my approval.

Matriarch Thessala Koranis came first on the list of proposed guests. I was ironically amused when I saw her name, because I could see that the Tegeans hoped to incite some controversy. Thessala had once been one of my mother’s political allies, but after Benezia joined Saren she distanced herself, rather loudly and with impressive speed. She then became the leader of what remained of my mother’s faction, although she had avoided any association with the T’Soni lineage ever since. I felt tempted to disapprove her invitation, but then I remembered a human saying Shepard had often quoted to me: _Keep your friends close and your enemies closer._

Thessala was short and slender, with a sharp, bony face and piercing dark eyes, one of those elder asari whose every softness and curve seems burned away by time and force of personality. On the evening of the _symposion_ , she dressed in a simple white gown with a minimal headdress, only two white strips framing her face. She greeted Kallyria and me with cool correctness, and barely spoke to the other participants.

The last participant came as something of a surprise. Dr. Mordin Solus was a salarian, quite elderly for his kind, his orange-and-white face seamed with age. He had obviously led an active life: his face also marked with scars and a rather large tattoo, one of his horns partially missing. He wore a formal crimson-and-white suit, and peered around at all of us with lively interest.

I actually knew Dr. Solus quite well by reputation. T’Soni Analytics maintained an extensive dossier for him. He was officially certified as a physician and geneticist, but in actuality he was a polymath, a galaxy-class expert in a wide variety of disciplines. Even among his own people he had great renown for his scientific brilliance.

Dr. Solus was also a veteran of the Special Tasks Group, with a military record that would have _astounded_ our audience had it not been thoroughly sealed. I think I was the only other person in the _symposion_ aware of this aspect of his career. When I inquired cautiously, I found that the Tegeans knew nothing about it. He had simply been visiting Thessia on other business, and had accepted the Tegean invitation for reasons of his own. I had very little idea what to expect from him . . . although at least he would have no interest in purely asari controversies.

* * *

**_10 May 2184, Maresthi Garden, Tegea/Thessia_ **

The _symposion_ took place in a private room in the Maresthi Garden, the most famous (and most expensive) restaurant in Tegea. The Garden was over two thousand years old, and had been managed by the Maresthi lineage for that entire period. It carried a reputation for strict political neutrality and _superb_ cuisine.

The six of us reclined on couches arranged in the customary circle, leaning on our left arms and using our right to eat and drink. Each of us had a small table placed within easy reach, where the Garden’s staff could set out our meal. Maresthi staff set up discreet camera pickups around the room, to record everything that was said in the course of the evening. Liena Maresthi herself announced each course: an appetizer of cheese-and-meat pastries; a salad of mixed fruits and vegetables with nuts and a tart dressing; a main course of fish steaks over grain with a creamy sauce; and a dessert of berries covered in hardened Terran chocolate. We had nothing but water and fruit juice to drink, saving the wine for the _symposion_ itself.

We deliberately kept our dinner talk light and inconsequential. To my surprise, Dr. Solus turned out the best conversationalist among us. He kept everyone entertained with a constant line of patter, inquiring in his telegraphic manner after current trends in asari art, music, and fashion. He seemed quite well-informed about such matters, and he possessed a delightfully dry and ironic wit. Most of us stayed well engaged, often breaking into laughter at his sallies of humor. Only Matriarch Thessala remained silent and rather grim, listening to all our talk but contributing almost nothing.

Finally the staff cleared the last of the dessert course away, and Liena Maresthi returned to the room with a single bottle of wine cradled in her arms.

“Honored guests. For this evening’s _symposion_ I have selected this: the House of Ventharis Royal Reserve 2169. As it happens, I have only one case left, but I can think of no better occasion to serve it. Matriarch Kallyria, would you care to sample the vintage?”

My aunt nodded, accepting the first splash of wine from Liena’s bottle. She swirled the wine in her goblet, sniffed carefully, sipped, took in a slow breath . . . and her eyes closed in mute appreciation.

“Oh my,” she said at last. “I approve. Friends, you are in for a treat.”

Liena made a polite gesture of thanks, and signaled for the staff to distribute goblets and pour wine for all of us. Then she withdrew to a shadowed corner, ready to watch the course of the discussion and answer Kallyria’s signals for more wine.

As soon as we all had full goblets, Kallyria smiled at all of us.

“Welcome, friends. For the benefit of our audience, please permit me to make introductions. I am Matriarch Kallyria T’Soni, citizen of the republic of Armali, and _symposiarch_ for this evening’s debate. To my left is Dr. Liara T’Soni, tenured Professor of Archaeology at the University of Serrice, owner and CEO of the firm T’Soni Analytics, and titular head of the T’Soni lineage. Next is Dr. Aurana T’Meles, also a tenured Professor of Archaeology at the University of Serrice, and holder of the Nemeian Foundation Chair for Ancient History. Next we have Dr. Garret Bryson, Professor Emeritus of Archaeology at the University of Chicago on Earth, and winner of the 2168 Teilhard Award for Distinguished Achievement in Archaeology. Next we have Dr. Mordin Solus, tenured Professor of Medicine and Genetics at the Sur’Kesh Planetary Academy of Sciences. Finally, to my immediate right is Matriarch Thessala Koranis, President-Coadjutor of the Assembly of the Republic of Messenia. A very distinguished company, I’m sure all will agree.

“Our debate this evening is to be on the general subject of _ancient and galactic history_. I have selected Dr. Bryson to speak first. I’m sure our audience is eager to hear what he has to say . . . and in any case we have been served a truly _superb_ vintage by our hosts here at the Maresthi Garden. So let us not delay any further. Dr. Bryson?”

“My thanks to Matriarch Kallyria for this honor,” said the human scientist. “I know it’s unusual for a human to be selected to speak first at an asari _symposion_. I hope all present – and those watching us from afar – will find her confidence well placed.”

“That will depend on your toast,” Kallyria responded. “And on what follows.”

“Then let’s begin.” Dr. Bryson raised his goblet high, and all of us followed suit. “I propose a toast: _to Enrico Fermi_.”

I blinked and glanced around the room. For a brief moment, all of us asari looked equally lost. Only Dr. Solus seemed to understand what Dr. Bryson aimed for, his mouth quirking into a small smile. Then long-practiced courtesy set in and all of us echoed the toast. “Enrico Fermi.”

All of us drank. It _was_ very good wine, a rich white vintage, slightly sweet with wonderful undertones and a smooth finish. It almost distracted me from the business at hand.

“Enrico Fermi was a human physicist who lived over two centuries ago,” Dr. Bryson began. “He made several important contributions to the disciplines of atomic and subatomic physics, and received humanity’s highest prize for scientific achievement. He was most famous as the architect of the first fission reactor ever built by humanity. Later he became involved in the creation of the first atomic weapons humanity ever built . . . which were, regrettably, used almost at once.

“I should take a moment to describe the state of humanity’s knowledge about the universe at the time that this person lived. Enrico Fermi died in 1954 according to our calendar. At that time space travel was not yet possible. It would be several more years before humanity managed for the first time to place a small object into low orbit around the Earth. Human astronomers knew very little even about the planets closest to Earth, and the first planets around other stars would not be discovered for over thirty years. The size and structure of our own galaxy was only dimly understood. The very existence of other galaxies had only recently been proven. It would not be an exaggeration to say that humanity was _profoundly_ ignorant about the nature of the universe.”

I covered a momentary chill by taking another sip of my wine.

_Goddess. Less than a quarter of an asari lifetime, and the humans have come so far. Such driven creatures they are. I begin to understand how Shepard could have occurred._

I looked around the room. Everyone watched Dr. Bryson with close attention . . . except for Matriarch Thessala, who looked rather bored.

“Even so, some humans had already begun to speculate about the possibility of life on other worlds. A thriving genre of popular entertainment existed, featuring the concepts of space travel and alien life. Many humans had sighted unidentified objects in the sky, and believed them to be evidence that sentient aliens were visiting Earth. As well-educated and sophisticated humans, Fermi and his colleagues were aware of all this, and occasionally discussed the possibilities among themselves.

“One day, a few years before his death, Fermi visited a major scientific laboratory. As he and several of his colleagues walked to a dining hall for the midday meal, the conversation turned to the possibility of alien life. All present knew that alien visitation would be much more likely if faster-than-light travel was possible. This was at a time when relativistic mechanics were well-understood, but the mass effect was not yet known. There existed very little theoretical basis for any speculation regarding FTL.

“While they walked, Fermi asked one of his colleagues, a man named Edward Teller, whether he considered it likely that FTL would be observed within ten years. Teller was cautious and suggested that the probability was about one in a million. Fermi disagreed, but his estimate was one in ten, which all understood to be his standard measure for the occurrence of an outright _miracle_.

“The scientists turned to other topics as they entered the dining hall . . . but then, as they sat down to their food, Fermi quite suddenly put a question.”

At this point Dr. Bryson put on a wide-eyed, wondering expression and peered comically about the room.

“ _Where is everybody?_ ”

All of us laughed, even Thessala. I took another sip of my wine, and saw the goblet about half-empty.

“Apparently all the scientists present understood at once that Fermi was referring to hypothetical aliens. Fermi launched into a series of back-of-the-envelope calculations; he was famous for his ability to make reasonably accurate estimates based on incomplete data. Given the age of the Earth, the likely number of habitable planets in the galaxy, the probability of life appearing on a habitable planet, the probability of a biosphere giving rise to intelligent life, the probability and expected duration of high-technology civilizations, and so on . . . Fermi concluded that Earth should have been visited by intelligent aliens, not once but many times, over the course of its history. _Yet no one had found evidence of any such visit_.

“Fermi’s conclusions disturbed a great many humans over the decades that followed. Other scientists refined his estimates, verifying most of his initial estimate. In particular, in the two centuries between his death and our discovery of the Prothean ruins on Mars, human astronomers discovered _thousands_ of planets orbiting other stars. Many of these were more or less Earthlike. Some of them were clearly living worlds.

“We found that the galaxy is _full to bursting_ with life. Yet for a long time we still saw no evidence of any other high-technology civilization, any other life that had learned to travel among the stars. Even our discovery of the Protheans only complicated the puzzle. For the technology we learned from those ruins made it obvious that space travel, even interstellar travel, can be _easy_. Given the discovery of element zero, given some simple experiments with its properties, gravity becomes a trivial obstacle and even the speed of light is no longer a limit. Any civilization that survives long enough to reach space _will_ before long reach the stars.

“So once again we found ourselves forced to ask Fermi’s question. The galaxy is billions of years old, and contains millions of life-bearing worlds. Even at a conservative estimate, the Protheans should have been only one among _thousands_ of civilizations scattered through the galaxy’s history. We should not have had to _search_ for the evidence of other minds. It should have been blatantly obvious all around us.”

Dr. Bryson examined his goblet, which was nearly empty. His face had become somber, no longer alight with humor. I knew he had to be thinking of the Reapers.

_Is this the chain of logic that led him to guess that something like the Reapers had to exist?_

“Then we humans reached the stars. We met the turians, and before long we met the rest of you. Now we interact with over a dozen other species, all of us participating in what is slowly becoming a common galactic civilization. For those of us who live on densely inhabited worlds, the galaxy seems like a busy, noisy place. Enrico Fermi was wrong. Or so it seems.

 _“Or so it seems,”_ he repeated. “Yet here we are. With all due respect to my gracious hosts, even the asari only reached space about three thousand years ago. That’s less than a turn of an insect’s wing against the galaxy’s age. Our civilizations have only explored a few percent of the galaxy. Beyond our borders there is darkness and wilderness. So still we have to ask, _where is everybody?_ Why does the galaxy seem so empty?”

He upended his goblet and drank the last of the wine in it, a signal that he had complete his initial speech. Silence fell, as Kallyria signaled for Liena Maresthi’s staff to fill everyone’s goblet for the second time.

Some debate followed as to who should give the first response to Dr. Bryson’s speech. Matriarch Thessala eventually won the nod by sheer seniority. She peered around the circle at all of us, an expression of faint disapproval on her face.

“I welcome the opportunity to speak at this gathering. I give my thanks to the Maresthi lineage for being our gracious hosts, to Matriarch Kallyria for serving as _symposiarch_ , and to Dr. Bryson for such a thoughtful opening.

“I believe I see the reason for Dr. Bryson’s unease with our situation. He is reasoning from a very old philosophical basis: the _principle of mediocrity_. That is to say, without very good reason we should not assume ourselves to be privileged observers of the universe. We look around us and see a galaxy with only a few very young civilizations, with most of the galaxy unknown to us. The principle of mediocrity suggests that this should be considered a characteristic state of affairs, that the galaxy is _typically_ a wilderness inhabited by young, expanding civilizations. If that is the case, then we should indeed see evidence of many previous visits to Thessia or to Earth. Yet we do not. A paradox.

“Yet the principle of mediocrity is not an iron-bound law. It is only a method for assessing incomplete evidence. In this case we have evidence to suggest that we are _not_ in a typical period of galactic history.”

Thessala raised her goblet. “I give you a new toast: _to the Protheans._ ”

“The Protheans,” we all responded, and drank.

“They were a magnificent people,” said Thessala, showing enthusiasm for the first time. “Everywhere we explore in the galaxy, we find their relics. They must have been a true galactic civilization, one race inhabiting this entire island universe, from center to outermost rim. They lived in vast and beautiful cities, homes to an enlightened people, artistic and wise. They possessed advanced technologies, some of them still beyond our comprehension. Today their crowning achievements – the Citadel and the mass relays – still serve as the backbone of our own civilization.

“We _do_ see evidence that the Protheans visited us in the distant past. There are numerous Prothean sites on Kahje, and the hanar claim to have been uplifted to sentience by those they call the _Enkindlers_. The humans found a large Prothean facility in their home system, and it seems clear that their remote ancestors were observed from afar. No Prothean facilities have been found in the Trebia system, but enough of their artifacts have been found on Palaven to suggest that they visited the primitive turians more than once. Of course, if Dr. T’Soni’s interpretation of evidence found in the Eramethos Mountains is correct, the Protheans must have visited Thessia as well.

“ _They were watching over us_ , all of us younger races. Perhaps they protected us, waiting until the time when they could welcome us into their community. Perhaps they even _aided_ our remote ancestors, most likely the hanar, possibly we humans, turians, and asari as well.

“But then they fell, victim to some flaw in their grand design, and their fall was as great as their civilization had been great. They left us alone, to rediscover science and technology on our own. We live in their shadow . . . and _that_ is why the galaxy seems empty to us. Our position in history is _not_ typical, because we live in a time of recovery from galaxy-wide catastrophe. The true normal state of affairs is _galactic community_ , of the kind that the Protheans governed, and which we are still in the process of rebuilding.”

As Thessala made the gesture signaling the end of her speech, I nodded to myself.

_She is primarily a politician, not a scientist. Naturally she reads history through a specific ideological lens, and envisions the future to match. An ideal of peaceful and enlightened galactic community, which of course we asari – led by people like Thessala – will build and govern._

_I might have subscribed to her vision once. After what I have seen, I am no longer so certain._

Thessala had spoken briefly, so there remained time for at least one more speaker before we had to refill our goblets. After a few moments of negotiation, the nod went to Dr. T’Meles.

“The Matriarch paints a very pleasant image,” she began, in a precise and rather arid voice. “Unfortunately I cannot concur. We do not know everything about Prothean civilization, but we _have_ learned a great deal, and the facts on the ground do not support Matriarch Thessala’s interpretation.”

Thessala frowned slightly, the only sign of her displeasure with being contradicted so quickly.

Aurana raised her arm to point to me. “As it happens, we have in our circle one of the galaxy’s foremost experts in Prothean culture and history. Once she was my own student at the University of Serrice, but in this discipline at least she has surpassed her old teachers.” Her voice became, if anything, even drier. “As she has been known to demonstrate in public.”

Gentle laughter at my expense. I felt my face color slightly, but managed to keep my expression under control.

“Rather than make a set speech, I would like to call on Dr. T’Soni’s expertise to set up the point I wish to make. If there is no objection?”

“ _I_ object,” said Thessala. “The customs of the _symposion_ permit each participant to speak only once. Dr. T’Soni cannot speak now _and_ exercise her rhetoric later.”

Dr. T’Meles shook her head. “Custom does not prevent any participant in a _symposion_ from giving the others the benefit of her expertise, if they specifically call upon her. If I ask specific questions, Dr. T’Soni may answer in a strictly objective mode, and still reserve the right to speak on her own behalf later. If she is willing, of course.”

I made a nod of acceptance and took a sip of my wine.

Thessala frowned. “I suppose you are correct. Very well, I withdraw my objection.”

“Thank you,” said Aurana. She took on a determined expression, rather like an examiner preparing to lacerate a student’s dissertation. I shuddered at a few unpleasant memories. “Dr. T’Soni, it is clear that the Protheans were more advanced than we are in many ways. Would you say that they were _beyond_ our comprehension, as Matriarch Thessala suggests?”

I blinked in surprise. “No, of course not.”

Thessala’s frown deepened, and I could see a flicker of resentment in her eyes.

“Are you sure? After all, if they represented the galaxy’s natural and stable condition as Matriarch Thessala claims, surely they must have been _millions of years_ beyond our level.”

Suddenly I saw the shape of her argument. “Prothean culture was alien to ours, but no more so than one would expect for a different sentient species. Their technology was sophisticated, but not beyond our ability to understand. We have already been able to incorporate many Prothean techniques into our own technology. Only the Citadel and the mass relays remain beyond our grasp for the time being.”

“You are drawing conclusions, Doctor,” growled Thessala.

Aurana turned on her, suddenly placing her in the position of an errant student. “I disagree, Matriarch. She has not asserted anything that departs from the scientific consensus on these issues. As you would know, were you familiar with any of the relevant literature.”

Thessala leaned back as if struck.

Aurana turned back to me. “So, Dr. T’Soni . . . would you say that Prothean civilization was _qualitatively_ different from our own?”

“I would say not. They had a longer history than ours, that’s all. More time to make progress.”

“Very well, let’s examine this question of the _length_ of Prothean history. Dr. T’Soni, what is our best estimate for the date of the fall of Prothean civilization?”

I suddenly had a flash of memory: Charles Pressley asking me almost the same question. “The start of the extinction period is usually dated to forty-nine thousand, nine hundred seventy years before the present, plus or minus one hundred fifty years."

“Very good. How _old_ was Prothean civilization at that time?”

I frowned. “We don’t know.”

“Why?”

“We have never located the Prothean homeworld,” I explained. “All of the Prothean worlds we have studied were clearly colonies, established after their interstellar civilization was already in existence. We have no evidence for a pre-spaceflight Prothean civilization.”

Aurana nodded. This much she already knew. “Very well. Then how would you date the oldest Prothean sites we have ever discovered?”

“Those would be sites we archaeologists label as _Prothean Second Age_ ,” I explained. “The oldest of those sites are dated to about fifty-eight thousand years before the present, plus or minus five hundred years.”

“Would you characterize Prothean Second Age sites as _unusual_ in any way?”

I nodded, beginning to see where she was headed. “Second Age sites are the oldest, of course. They are only located in the Scutum-Centaurus Arm of the galaxy, between the Caleston Rift and the Sigurd’s Cradle cluster. They are characterized by certain aesthetic styles, the presence of several undeciphered scripts, and the absence of certain technologies that are prevalent in Third and Fourth Age sites.”

Aurana nodded slowly. “Dr. T’Soni, I will not ask you to _draw conclusions_ , for fear of the Matriarch’s wrath . . . but Dr. Bryson has already made his speech and is under no such constraint. Dr. Bryson, what do the characteristics of Second Age sites suggest to you?”

“An earlier phase in Prothean development,” answered the human without hesitation. “We’ve speculated for a long time that the Prothean homeworld must be located somewhere in that region, probably behind a mass relay that has not yet been opened for exploration. That’s where they must have first broken out into the galaxy.”

“About fifty-eight thousand years ago,” Aurana mused. “So their tenure as lords of the galaxy was quite short. No more than about eight thousand years. Longer than we have managed thus far . . . but still only _the turn of an insect’s wing_ , to borrow Dr. Bryson’s evocative phrase.

“I think we should now be able to see why Matriarch Thessala’s vision cannot be correct. The glory of Prothean civilization _cannot_ represent the galaxy’s stable and natural state. The Protheans rose as a young civilization, eager to explore and colonize and learn, just as we are today. Then, after only a few thousand years, they fell. A flash of light illuminated the galaxy for a brief moment, and then all was darkness once again.

“Dr. Bryson is correct. The galaxy’s natural state seems to be that of a wilderness. _Where is everybody?_ Where are all the civilizations that must have come _before_ the Protheans?

“ _That_ is the question we must answer, if we are to deal with the issues Enrico Fermi raised on Earth centuries ago. And . . . I must confess . . . I believe this question may be the most important one our civilization faces.”

Aurana put her goblet to her lips and tossed off the last of her wine. I stared at her in surprise.

_Goddess, has she come around? Is she taking the Reaper hypothesis seriously at last?_

While Liena’s staff refilled our goblets for the last time, Kallyria caught my eye with a very pointed stare, asking silently if I wanted to take a turn to speak. Delaying for a moment, I looked around the circle to measure the temperature of the _symposion_.

Thessala reclined on her couch with every outward sign of relaxation, but I saw a few tell-tale markers: body held absolutely motionless, fingers tense on her goblet, eyes not meeting anyone else’s gaze. I knew she was _fuming_. Then I glanced across the circle and saw Dr. Solus: eyes slitted almost closed, lips moving in a silent colloquy, fingers tapping an intricate rhythm on the table in front of him.

_He has something to say, and it may even be the right thing. Better it come from him than from me._

I caught my aunt’s eye once more and made an infinitesimal nod toward the salarian.

Kallyria immediately glanced his way and spoke. “Dr. Solus, you’ve had no chance to speak so far. Do you wish to begin our third glass?”

The salarian’s eyes snapped open and he nodded emphatically. “Yes.”

Kallyria leaned back against her couch and encouraged him with a brilliant smile.

“No toast to propose,” said Dr. Solus. “Silly custom. May as well pray to asarimorphic deity and then pour wine on floor as sacrifice. In fact, might that be where custom came from? Never mind. Not relevant.

“Wish to examine question raised by Dr. Bryson, by this Enrico Fermi. Galaxy looks wild. Civilizations always seem to be young and expanding, like Protheans, like us. Never see situation Matriarch Thessala wants to create. Never see mature galactic community stable over long timespan. Why?”

Dr. Solus took a sip of his wine, permitting us a moment to consider his question.

“Something must _happen_ to growing cultures. Something must _prevent_ process of final growth, maturity, stability. Have heard hypothesis promoted by Dr. T’Soni regarding so-called _Reapers_. Have seen evidence. Interesting hypothesis. Also rather frightening. Would like to explore alternatives.

“First alternative: high-technology civilizations are more uncommon than expected over galaxy’s lifespan. Current situation, with several species reaching interstellar capability at same time, is unusual. Possibly result of Prothean meddling with primitive cultures. Protheans vanish, meddled-with primitives all advance at about same pace, here we are!”

I shook my head silently. The salarian noticed.

“Ah, Dr. T’Soni knows this cannot be the case. Protheans were not first galactic civilization. Before Protheans, we have _inusannon_ and _thoi’han_. Before them, other cultures we cannot name. Lots of other cultures, going back as far as we can see, millions of years. Spacefaring cultures actually quite common in galaxy’s history. All extinct, except for us.

“Second alternative: galaxy more dangerous than it appears. High-technology civilizations always destroyed before long by natural phenomena. Ecological collapse, volcanic eruptions, meteorite strikes, supernovae, gamma-ray bursters, galactic core explosions.

“May explain extinction of _some_ cultures. Seems plausible for civilizations without mass-effect technology. Limited to one star system. Limited by gravity and speed of light. Can be wrecked by bad luck. Harder to explain extinction of _interstellar_ cultures, with mass-effect technology. Not limited to one star system. Not limited by speed of light. Can quickly grow beyond dependency on one planet. Can escape any speed-of-light natural phenomenon. Imagine _asari_ destroyed by mere natural disaster? Salarians? Turians? Humans?” Mordin snorted in amused disgust. “Not that careless. Protheans even less likely victims. Second alternative doesn’t work either.

“Third alternative: organic life basically stupid. High-technology civilizations destroy _themselves_ before reaching galaxy-wide steady state. Fight wars. Wreck ecologies through mismanagement. Overrun available resources then die back. Build AI that commits mass murder. Build virtual environments then get lost inside.

“Third alternative actually somewhat credible. See plenty of examples. Rachni too difficult to live with, had to be eradicated. Krogan nearly extinct before salarian uplift due to nuclear wars. Krogan nearly extinct now due to belligerent nature. Drell mismanaged industrial revolution, ruined ecology, nearly died out before hanar intervention. Quarians built hostile AI, got decimated, driven into exile. Turians, humans barely avoided similar fates. Lots of ruined one-planet civilizations in galaxy.

“Problem with third alternative: requires high-technology civilization to _always_ be stupid. Billions of years, millions of civilizations, _no one_ ever gets it right? Asari not that stupid. Salarians not that stupid. Turians and humans apparently not _quite_ that stupid. Problems seem difficult but not impossible to solve.”

Mordin raised his goblet and took a long sip, sighing in satisfaction afterward.

“No. No, no, no. None of those alternatives work. Evidence for plenty of past civilizations, if we look hard enough. Many too clever and too widespread to fall to simple _natural_ disaster. Can’t all be stupid enough to commit _suicide_. If no other alternatives, _someone_ should have made it. So where are they?

“Unfortunately, one more alternative exists. Fourth alternative: _something out there eats civilizations_. Intentionally. Cleverly. Lots of thought and strategy going into process. Always looking out for prey to appear. Never misses a meal. Got every civilization that didn’t fail some other way. Got the Protheans. Possibly waiting for moment to get _us_. Call it _Reapers_. Call it something else. Don’t care.”

The salarian made a courtly little nod in my direction.

“Apologies to Dr. T’Soni, but logic alone doesn’t prove Reaper hypothesis. Civilization eaters might not have anything to do with Saren, geth, _Sovereign_. If we can make deduction, so can Saren. Make up plausible story. Propaganda. Might be thousands of years before civilization eaters show up again. Might _never_ show up again. Might be something we here missed.

“ _But_ . . . idea worth taking seriously. Shouldn’t dismiss. Should investigate further, make contingency plans. If wrong, then wrong. Civilization goes on about its business. But if _not_ wrong? Disaster. Maybe end of everything. Better to know. Get ready. Not be taken by surprise. Hope everyone listening to our talk agrees.”

Dr. Solus didn’t formally indicate that he was finished, but he closed down and returned his attention to his wine. As I glanced around the circle, I caught one set of eyes after another. Clearly it was my turn.

“I wish to thank all of you for your contributions,” I began. “I find that I have very little to add. Perhaps what is most important is to search for a _synthesis_ among the views we have heard this evening.

“Matriarch Thessala has a vision for the future. She hopes to see the galaxy come together, form a lasting civilization that will match or even surpass the Protheans. She expects that we asari will play a special role in that evolution, possibly leading the galaxy into its future.” I nodded to the Matriarch. “It’s a beautiful vision. It was my mother’s vision as well, before she fell into error.”

Thessala kept her reactions under strict control, but I could see another flash of resentment. I smiled to myself, with some malice.

_You’ve spent so much time pretending to have nothing to do with Benezia. It can’t be pleasant to have her daughter bring up the connection again. In public._

“My mother and I had our differences, but I still consider her vision to be a good one. All of us have a choice as to what kind of future we wish to create. Why _not_ choose beauty, peace, and prosperity? Of course, it might be a little . . . _arrogant_ of us asari to assume that we alone are destined to lead. _Siari_ would imply that we are destined to be _partners_ to the other races, each of whom has its own _areté_ to offer.”

Thessala’s eyes were very cold and hard now.

I looked away from her, dismissing her from my attention. I looked around the circle, catching every other pair of eyes in turn.

“Yet if we are to reach that beautiful future, that vision that Benezia conceived and Thessala hopes to bring into being, _we must survive_. Whatever force has been destroying civilizations, possibly for millions of years, constitutes a threat to all of us today. If the Reaper hypothesis is correct – and the _Normandy_ crew gathered too much evidence for it to be simply _dismissed_ – then the enemy has _already_ made one attempt to begin the next round of extinction. We may not have much time.

“I concur with Dr. Solus. The evidence may not be conclusive right now. It may not be conclusive until his _civilization eaters_ show up once more and begin doing their work. Right now, we’re in the position of a gambler deciding where to place her bet. We don’t have all the information we need, but we also don’t have the luxury of waiting for all the evidence to appear. If we bet on the Reapers and turn out to be wrong, we look foolish but life goes on. If we bet _against_ the Reapers and turn out to be wrong, then _we lose everything_.

“We need to do all we can to learn more. We need to make plans. We need to be ready for the worst. To do anything else is to fail in our duty. To the audience for our _symposion_ , I say this: don’t be satisfied with the easy and comfortable answers. Look at the evidence for yourselves. Help to find more. Reach your own conclusions. Make your voice heard in the Assembly. For the sake of all the generations we hope will come after us.”

I raised my goblet once more, and enjoyed my last taste of the wine.

* * *

After the cameras had been turned off and Liena Maresthi began directing cleanup, I thanked Dr. Bryson and Dr. Solus again for their participation. Finally I approached Aurana.

“I’m surprised,” I told her. “I thought you were skeptical about the Reaper hypothesis.”

My old advisor shook her head. “I was . . . but then I began thinking about it more carefully. The arguments Dr. Bryson and Dr. Solus laid out aren’t new to me. Some time ago I did the research and walked through the chain of deduction myself. I worked out the mathematics. There _must_ be some factor that all of us have missed, some hostile force that has been operating for millions of years but that we have yet to encounter. The history of the galaxy, the distribution of extinct civilizations in time and space, none of it makes sense otherwise.”

“Is that why you agreed to work on this expedition?” I asked quietly.

“It was part of the reason, yes.”

“So Dr. T’Soni leads someone else astray with her paranoid delusions,” said a very cold voice.

I turned to face the Matriarch, placing my hands behind my back so that I wouldn’t be tempted to use them. “I _beg_ your pardon?”

“Young one, you have no idea what forces you are tampering with,” said Thessala. “I would advise you to go back to Illium and your work among the gangsters and pirates there. If you continue to agitate here on Thessia, you will find yourself in a _great deal_ of trouble. Discredited. Disgraced.”

“Thessala, you had best be _very_ careful before making such threats against the T’Soni lineage,” said Kallyria as she approached us.

“I do not threaten. I promise. Rather than see chaos break loose, I will _gladly_ break one maiden, and a lineage already tainted by treachery.”

“You’re hiding something,” I accused her, suddenly very certain. “What could be so important?”

Fear flickered for an instant in the Matriarch’s eyes. “That is none of your concern.”

I stepped forward, right into her personal space. “Goddess. _Tell me_. I want nothing but what’s best for all of us. If there’s a _reason_ for me to step back from this, to stop pressing for action, then I’ll consider it. But I have to know what that reason is.”

Thessala hesitated for a long moment, and then shook her head. “I will tell you nothing. You are a foolish maiden, and the daughter of treason, and on both counts you cannot be trusted. Defer to your elders, child, or bear the full weight of the consequences.”

Then she turned to go, and all of us were left to stare after her.

“It was a mistake, slighting her in public like that,” said Kallyria. “She’ll make you pay for it.”

I set my jaw in determination. “I don’t think so . . . and if she tries, she will be the one to pay.”


	23. Combat Archaeology

**_Late May to Early July 2184, Eramethos Mountains, Thessia_ **

When I returned to the dig site, I immediately ordered a complete review of our security procedures.

Security is often a concern during archaeological fieldwork. Looters and nighthawkers try to steal artifacts before they can be properly catalogued and secured. Even well-meaning visitors can damage a site’s archaeological context through their carelessness. Thus any expedition must give some thought to site security.

After the Tegean Symposium, I felt more concerned than usual. Matriarch Thessala’s threats had been rather specific, promising that I would suffer _discredit and disgrace_ if I persisted in spreading “chaos.” There seemed to be little Thessala could do to further damage my public reputation. Between my mother’s ill-considered actions, the Council’s smear job, and my own work as an information broker, I was already doomed to controversy. But if Thessala found a way to damage my _scientific_ reputation, that might cripple my ability to continue Shepard’s work. The fastest way to do that would be to make it appear that I was mishandling an important scientific inquiry.

Aurana and I spent a day personally reviewing the chain of custody for every artifact we had recovered. We checked the artifacts themselves to ensure they were well-documented and had not been tampered with. We began discreet background checks on all our volunteers and staff. We changed the guard rotations, and brought in more security personnel so that no one would be on duty alone. We reduced the number of non-scientists granted clearance to visit the site. None of this immediately turned up anything unexpected.

Meanwhile, I placed a call to Illium. Yevgeni and Vara came to Thessia, meeting first with me alone, then with all of our leadership team. By the end of our meeting, Yevgeni had a rather predatory smile on his face. I reflected on the advantages to having an attack beast on staff.

* * *

As weeks passed, our understanding of the site grew.

We had clearly discovered a _Prothean Third Age_ site; that is, a site that had been occupied by the mature Prothean civilization, before the beginning of the extinction period. It had been in active use for perhaps fifty years, and we estimated as many as a dozen Protheans on site at any given time. We found no signs of violence, but the site did appear abandoned in haste, with a number of artifacts left behind. It had clearly been a scientific outpost, set up for observation of primitive asari. We found no Prothean remains on the site, but a small midden turned up near the back of the plateau, where we found several incomplete sets of asari remains. We also recovered a few scraps from discarded data storage devices, almost all of these concerned with asari physiology or psychology.

We found a few tantalizing hints, pointing to mysteries or new knowledge.

One of the most extensive data records we discovered was a personal log, belonging to a researcher named Vrandis Tren. Even this record was terribly fragmentary, with only a scattering of surviving words and short phrases. Tren made an unusual number of references to _‘a-tha-kse-na_ , or the Citadel. What little context I could decipher suggested she had been in close contact with the Prothean central government. Then, late in the log appeared a set of references to _‘o-ra-vo-re_ , a word I had never encountered before. The word always came with an inflectional marker indicating a proper name, and the context suggested that it referred to an antagonistic collective of some sort. A hostile species? A dissident faction within the Prothean civilization? I found no way to tell.

Most exciting were Tren’s references to _another_ site, clearly located somewhere else on Thessia. Eventually all of us agreed that the Eramethos Mountains site had been only a subsidiary outpost, with the center of Prothean activity located somewhere else on the planet. Unfortunately we discovered not a single clue as to _where_ that center might have been. Tren herself was infuriatingly vague. Given Prothean technology, it could have been anywhere.

Work and fierce intellectual stimulation transformed time into a blur. Days turned into weeks, then into months.

Sha’ira departed first, graciously giving us all her blessing and returning to her work on the Citadel. With the Consort gone, Dr. Orysae lost the motivation of their liaison, which (on her part, at least) had been rather passionate. She began to feel superfluous to our archaeological work, most of which was admittedly outside her specialty. Eventually she left the plateau and went back to her office in Serrice, staying in contact only by comm.

Dr. Bryson remained longer, but in late June he suddenly received a message from the Alliance military. He left Thessia at once, traveling to Arcturus to meet with Admiral Hackett and other senior Alliance officials. When he returned, it was only long enough to pack his bags and make a final apologetic visit to the site.

“Hackett wants to set up a task force,” he explained to me and Aurana, barely concealing his excitement. “He wants us to start actively searching for more evidence of the Reaper hypothesis. If it’s true, there must be bits and pieces of evidence scattered all over the galaxy, not just from the Prothean extinction but from all the previous cycles as well. Even myths, legends, tall tales of the space lanes. Anything to give us a clue as to where the Reapers are and how they operate.”

I smiled at him. “I’m glad the Alliance is taking this seriously.”

Bryson gave a cynical snort. “I’m not sure _the Alliance_ is taking it seriously, but Admiral Hackett at least has his head in the right place. He’s willing to provide some funding, set us up with a small lab facility on the Citadel to serve as our HQ. I’ll bring my daughter Ann in on the project, hire a few other assistants. We might be able to do some good.”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” I told him, reaching out to touch his hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry. Aurana and I have things well in hand here.”

“Liara, you should come with me,” he said in a sudden rush. “What we’ve found here has been fascinating . . . but there’s nothing here about the Reapers. I’m afraid that makes this site something of a side issue.”

I nodded slowly, exchanging a glance with Dr. T’Meles. “You may be right, Garret. The past few months certainly haven’t been a waste of time from that perspective. We’ve seized the attention of millions of asari. Kallyria tells me that the e-democracy is buzzing with talk about the Reaper hypothesis and its implications. Several influential Matriarchs have been asking Councilor Tevos pointed questions. But I’m beginning to think we may have exhausted the _political_ potential of this dig.”

“Then come to the Citadel with me!” he pleaded. “With your help we can crack this problem wide open.”

“I’m sorry, Garret. I can’t. I have other work. Other obligations that can’t be neglected.”

He grimaced, but nodded in acceptance. “I understand.”

“You may be sure that I’ll pass along any information I find that seems relevant.”

“That may be quite a lot, given your resources.” Bryson reached out to pull me into a fatherly embrace. “So be it. It’s been an honor working with you, Liara.”

Our initial site report was published in July of 2184: _Archaeological Excavations on the South Slope of Mount Zelias on Thessia,_ by L. T’Soni, G. Bryson, A. T’Meles, and A. Orysae. It was the lead article in the _Journal of Galactic Archaeology_ for that month, and it eventually became the most widely-read peer-reviewed paper that I ever helped write. Since it was my _last_ academic paper for many years, I suppose I’m glad it attracted so much attention.

* * *

**_18 July 2184, ASV Destiny Ascension, Thessian Orbit_ **

One more detail remained to be addressed before I left Thessia.

It is not easy – nor is it usually _wise_ – to approach a Matriarch by stealth. Matriarchs tend to be powerful biotics, and they also accumulate acolytes. Acolytes in turn tend to have commando training, and the best of these are invariably organized into a personal protection detail. Before she allied herself with Saren, my mother had thousands of acolytes and a protection detail in company strength. I had grown up surrounded by stern, well-armed asari in commando gear, as devoted to my own protection as to my mother’s. It had been rather stifling, until I fled from my mother’s household.

Matriarch Thessala did not enjoy the same level of influence or power that my mother once possessed, but even she had two squads of competent commandos on call, and her personal and technical security were very good. Yevgeni and Vara had flatly vetoed any notion of trying to penetrate that security so far as to reach the Matriarch. Instead, we decided to cause the Matriarch to come to us.

The opportunity arose when _Destiny Ascension_ came to Thessia for regular refit and crew rotation. Matriarch Lidanya and I were acquainted, and she felt willing to consider herself under an obligation to me. She knew full well that she, her command, and the Council itself would all have been killed, had Shepard and I not called in the Alliance fleet at the Battle of the Citadel. That would not have been enough for her to support my political position – she was scrupulously neutral in such things – but she _was_ willing to provide neutral ground. Even to help me in a small deception.

Naturally, Matriarch Thessala was _delighted_ to accept an invitation to visit the flagship of the Citadel fleet. She was less delighted to step into Lidanya’s flag conference room two hours into her tour, only to find me standing there alone, waiting for her.

She stopped dead, her face suddenly blank with surprise. “ _You_.”

I bowed low, an asari maiden being properly respectful to her elders. “Matriarch Lidanya. Matriarch Thessala. I thank you for your presence.”

Thessala turned to her fellow Matriarch. “Did you know about this?”

“Of course I did,” said Lidanya. “I suggest you listen to what Dr. T’Soni has to say.”

“Please be seated, Matriarch,” I said softly. “This may take a while.”

Thessala glared at me. She even glared at Lidanya. But she sat down.

I opened a case that had been sitting on Lidanya’s conference table. From it I produced five small objects. Data disks, a fragment of a genetic resequencing device, a personal sidearm, all apparently of Prothean make and showing millennia of wear and decay. I set them in front of Thessala in a row. “Do you recognize these, Matriarch?”

“Why should I recognize such trash?” she complained . . . but I saw the flicker in her eyes.

So did Lidanya. The admiral’s face grew stony with disgust.

“These are apparently pieces of Prothean technology, like many others we have recovered from the Eramethos Mountains.” I shrugged. “Of course, these are fakes, as I believe you already know.”

Thessala said nothing.

“After our _symposion_ , I went through my mother’s old records, at least those which were not encrypted beyond my ability to crack. I’m sorry to say that her opinion of you was not as high as you might have wished.”

“Nonsense!” Thessala shook her head angrily. “I was at your mother’s right hand, until she made her alliance with that _nothos_ turian. She relied upon me.”

I gave her a sharp-edged smile. “Don’t misunderstand me, Matriarch. She understood your virtues and appreciated them. _Thessala is passionate about her ideology_ , she said, _and_ _very talented at motivating her political base_. On the other hand, she was not blind to your faults. _Extremely impatient for a Matriarch. Almost no concept of long-term strategy. Completely inept at intrigue._ ”

Thessala turned a light shade of purple.

“I find my mother was correct. Really, Matriarch. If you truly plan to destroy someone, you shouldn’t signal the move quite so blatantly. Simply _do_ it, before your target has a chance to prepare her defenses. Or were you hoping the threat alone would discourage me?”

“Perhaps,” she rasped, her lips peeling away from her teeth. “I know you, Liara T’Soni. You’ve spent decades running away from anything that displeased you.”

“ _All things grow if they wish to live_ ,” I said, quoting the Athame Codex. “As I say, these items are fakes. They were produced in a small lab and factory in Messenia, and then substituted for other artifacts at our dig site on Mount Zelias. I am in possession of copies of work orders and specifications from the Messenian facility. I am also in possession of recorded verbal testimony from one Jariel Setheris, one of Dr. T’Meles’s assistants, who carried out the substitution on your orders.”

“How?” said Thessala, her voice somewhat strangled.

I smiled slightly, remembering the satisfaction in Yevgeni’s voice as he described how he and Vara had broken into the Matriarch’s hired lab. “I think you’re aware that anyone in my profession must be careful to protect her sources and methods. What confuses me is how you expected to _succeed_. Surely you know that any experienced archaeologist is going to be watching out for fakes.”

Thessala sighed in defeat. “It seemed to be working.”

“I suppose it _might_ have worked. Revealing an archaeologist to be a hoaxer, a falsifier of results, can be devastating to her credibility. I might have missed it . . . if you hadn’t warned me some attack was coming.”

“So what happens now?” she demanded. “You accuse me of theft of Prothean technology?”

“Hardly.” I paused, savoring the moment. “After all, the items Setheris stole from the dig site were themselves fakes.”

Thessala blinked in surprise.

“Have you ever heard of the counter-espionage technique called the _canary trap?_ ” I smiled at her. “The technique is especially useful when one knows that information is being stolen, but not who is carrying out the theft. One exposes different versions of a particularly interesting piece of information to different suspects, and then one observes which version of the information reaches the adversary. In this case, we senior archaeologists introduced our own fake artifacts onto the site. In private conversations with each suspect, we talked up the importance and unique value of one of the false artifacts. Then we watched to see which ones were stolen or replaced. Once we had narrowed down our list of suspects, a few more false _discoveries_ sufficed to confirm what was happening.”

“You falsified _your own_ artifacts?” asked Lidanya.

“Only for this specific purpose,” I explained. “We kept careful records of which items were fake, and kept them strictly separate from the real finds. If the question ever comes before an ethics panel, we’re prepared to demonstrate that our published findings are untainted. Of course, I don’t expect this ever to come to an ethics panel.”

“Why not?”

“Because I suspect Matriarch Thessala and I will be able to come to an agreement.”

Lidanya looked dubiously at the other Matriarch.

“You are probably correct,” said Thessala. “I can’t afford to have this story come out, any more than you can.”

“A great deal less, actually.” I began to gather up the fake artifacts and put them back in their case. “I could probably withstand such an attack on my scientific reputation, especially since I now have more than enough evidence to defend myself effectively. If not for the others whose reputations are at risk, I would invite you to go public and be damned.”

Lidanya nodded. “Thessala, you can’t afford for the public to hear that you were played by a _maiden_ who is barely old enough to vote in the Assembly. You would be a laughing-stock.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Thessala admitted. “What do you propose, Doctor?”

“I don’t need you to embrace Benezia again. That would be too much to ask. In any case, not even the T’Soni lineage is trying to defend her actions. I won’t even ask you to support the Reaper hypothesis in public.” I held the Matriarch’s eyes with my own. “I _do_ want you to encourage our people to prepare for _any_ disaster that may come. Build up our fleet. Improve our planetary defenses. Stockpile supplies. Do more research on weapons and defensive systems. Get more of our maidens into combat training, engineering, network defense, anything that might be useful if things go very wrong out in the galaxy. Don’t try to lie or scheme, because that’s not your strength. Instead . . . simply be the passionate advocate that my mother prized.”

Thessala nodded slowly. “I suppose I could do that. It’s not a _bad_ idea, it’s just against the e-democracy’s usual preferences. Goddess forbid we pay more than five percent in taxes. But what will you do in exchange?”

I took a deep breath. “I will leave Thessia.”

She leaned back, startled.

“If I have _you_ advocating for a better readiness posture, then I don’t have to stay here and attract more controversy. I can go back to Illium and the rest of my work. There’s a whole galaxy beyond the asari borders that also has to be convinced to prepare for the Reapers.”

“This is your home, Doctor. You can’t promise that you will stay away forever.”

“No, but I _can_ stay away and out of your affairs for a few years at least. I imagine the Reaper question will be resolved by then, one way or the other. I won’t even press to uncover whatever secrets you’ve been trying to conceal from me.”

Thessala nodded slowly. For the first time, I caught just a hint of respect in her gaze. I knew we had an agreement.

Three days later I left my homeworld. I didn’t return for a year and a half.

By that time, of course, it was far too late.


	24. Devali

**_Late October 2184, Mumbai/Earth_ **

I was in Mumbai when the first assassin made his attempt on my life. He almost succeeded.

The attack came when I had been on Earth for a little over two weeks. A new round of Alliance parliamentary elections was under way. One of the largest Earth-based political parties, the Indian Progressive Alliance, had hired T’Soni Analytics to do opposition research and poll analysis. This wasn’t an unusual request. Human politicians often found expert asari analysts useful, so long as we remained neutral and didn’t make any overt attempt to manipulate human politics. Long experience with the rough-and-tumble of our own e-democracy gave us useful insights into the more sedate human system.

The contract didn’t really require my presence. Nyxeris sent a small mob of political analysts from her department, and they did most of the work. I occasionally helped with specific pieces of research or analysis. Meanwhile, I took the opportunity to meet with influential humans: politicians, businessmen, scientists, even journalists. Anyone who seemed open to the Reaper hypothesis, and might be willing to apply influence to encourage the Alliance to act.

At first I thought that being among so many humans would remind me too much of Shepard, but I had forgotten the sheer _variety_ of humanity. Shepard had come from the North American continent, and then from the sleepy colony world of Mindoir. India and the Indian people seemed so unalike as to almost be from a different universe. Mumbai reminded me of Nos Astra, but it seemed a cleaner place, healthier, with less corruption and vice and even more sheer energy. It stood as one of the greatest cities of Earth, the most populous metropolis of a large and wealthy nation-state.

It took me all of a day to fall in love with the place. I experimented with local cuisine, took up local fashions, walked the city streets, shopped for keepsakes, and visited the temples.

That last was a pleasant surprise. On the surface, Indian religion seemed a naïve polytheism, rather like some primitive asari traditions . . . but the more I investigated, the more depth and sophistication I discovered there. The concepts of _samsara,_ _dharma_ , _karma_ and _moksha_ , all of these seemed very familiar, congenial to my asari mind in ways that Shepard’s Christianity had never managed. I downloaded translations of the _Vedas,_ the _Upanishads_ , and the _Bhagavad Gita_ , and spent evenings immersing myself in them.

Meanwhile, I found contacts and began making public appearances. I made speeches about the war against Saren, the threat of the Reapers, the need for the galaxy’s peoples to stand together and prepare for the worst. Rather to my surprise, I soon became a minor celebrity, speaking to packed houses and seeing myself on local news-feeds. The Indian people seemed unafraid of involvement in the galactic community, and they were respectfully curious about aliens . . . especially asari. The fact that we looked like human females, and had _blue skin_ , seemed to match some quirk of their cultural heritage.

They also seemed quite receptive to the Reaper hypothesis. They already felt comfortable with the notion of eons-long cycles of existence, punctuated by eras of chaos and destruction, and populated by demons and monsters hostile to human life.

For the first time since Shepard’s death, I began to feel as if I was making progress.

* * *

One evening I had no other engagements, so I decided to have dinner at _Nirali’s_. This wasn’t the largest or most expensive restaurant in Mumbai, but it was of high quality, it was only a few blocks from my rooms at the Taj Mahal Palace, and I had very good personal reasons to eat there.

If anything, the city seemed even more beautiful and more frantically busy than usual. The people celebrated a major holiday. I saw colorful decorations everywhere, every building ablaze with lights, and fireworks under way out over the harbor. Thousands moved through the streets in their best new clothes, visiting the temples, celebrating with friends and family.

 _Nirali’s_ looked busier than I had ever seen, and for a moment I felt tempted to return to my hotel for room service. Then the headwaiter recognized me. “Dr. T’Soni!”

“Good evening, Sayaji. I wouldn’t want to impose . . .”

He grinned at me. “No imposition, Doctor, none at all. Give me a moment and I will see what we can do for you.”

“Certainly.”

I waited near the door and looked around the busy dining area. The room was paneled in dark wood, but candles and lamps glowed everywhere, shining on dozens of human faces. The place resounded with music and conversation. As usual, about one-fifth of the diners wore Alliance uniform. I glanced at the back wall, where a portrait took pride of place behind the bar: a pretty, dark-haired, dark-eyed woman, smiling out at the assembled company.

“Dr. T’Soni.” Another man approached me, older than Sayaji, his hair thin and gray, his beard and mustache perfectly trimmed, his dark formal suit impeccable. “I am so pleased to welcome you again to my establishment.”

As expected, I extended a hand for him to take and bow slightly over. “Samesh. I’m always happy to come. Although you seem very busy this evening.”

“It is so.” He glanced around the room, looking pleased and somewhat wistful at the same time. “This is our first _Devali_ since we opened. Word seems to have gotten around. Nirali would have been very happy to see it.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” I said softly.

“As it happens, a table for one is likely to open within ten minutes. However, if you are willing to share a table I can seat you immediately. I believe you will be willing.”

“Why is that?”

“You are acquainted with the other diner at that table. Lieutenant Williams, also from the _Normandy_.”

My eyes widened in surprise. “Ashley is here? Of course, I would be happy to sit with her.”

“Then by all means, follow me.”

Samesh led me out onto the terrace, to a table set somewhat apart from all the others, with a particularly fine view across the city to the Arabian Sea in the distance. A single woman sat there, dark hair unbound and falling to her shoulders, a navy-blue off-the-shoulder gown ending in a narrow skirt about mid-calf, stiletto-heel sandals on her feet. She looked up and did a surprised double-take. I had to do the same. We both burst out laughing.

“Ash, I didn’t think I would _ever_ see you in a dress.”

“Hey, just because I can drill you between the eyes at a hundred meters doesn’t mean I can’t wear something girly while I’m off-duty. Besides, Mr. Bhatia insists on feeding me for free when I come here in uniform.”

Samesh bowed deeply. “Any Alliance soldier, Lieutenant. _Especially_ if they were from Commander Shepard’s crew.”

“Right. So I stay out of uniform, he pretends I’m just another tourist, and I pay my bill. Honor is satisfied on both sides.”

I seated myself across from Ashley, and Samesh bowed once more before going on about his business.

The Marine shook her head. “Besides, Liara, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything like _that_ before either.”

I looked down at my own dress, which I had to admit was much more stylish than usual: a very brief embroidered blouse in deep indigo silk, a narrow petticoat in the same material, all covered by a long sheer wrap that clung to my figure and fell from my left shoulder. The ensemble was easy to move in, very comfortable in the local climate, and rather daring as it left my cleavage and midriff exposed.

Ashley’s lips quirked, as if she struggled to suppress more laughter. I suddenly felt as if I had committed some social error.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Nothing. It’s just . . . it occurred to me that I was looking at _an asari in a sari_.”

I rolled my eyes in exasperation. “Puns are the surest sign of a very low wit.”

“I never claimed to have any other kind.”

“What brings you to Mumbai?” I asked.

“I’m attending the Advanced Leadership and Tactics School, up in Mhow, but I have liberty for the evening. Thought I would come down and see Mr. Bhatia, and enjoy _Devali_ in the big city.”

I nodded, impressed. “I understand that’s a very prestigious military college. You must be under consideration for higher rank.”

“Yeah. The Williams Curse finally seems to be broken. Admiral Hackett has been running interference for me. I think he wants me on his staff once I’ve had a chance to command in the field.” She hesitated, and then went on. “What Shepard did helped too.”

I smiled at her to show I wasn’t upset. “I’m glad. You deserve it, Ashley.”

“Damn straight. You?”

“Politics, I’m afraid.” Just then our soups arrived, for me a potato-and-garlic soup with a glass of red wine. “My firm is providing analytic support to the Progressive Alliance in the elections, and I’ve been taking the opportunity to meet with potential allies.”

“Still trying to get people to take the Reapers seriously?” she asked, a hint of bitterness in her tone.

“Someone must.”

“Yeah. Aside from Admiral Hackett, the Alliance brass seem to have swept the whole thing under the rug. The _Normandy_ crew has been split up. I haven’t spoken to any of them in months. Joker seems to have left the Alliance and disappeared completely.”

I couldn’t help the small frown that crossed my face. “I haven’t kept track of Joker,” I admitted.

She gave me a shrewd stare. “Still blame him for what happened?”

“Maybe a little. I know it’s unfair. He punishes himself more than I possibly could.”

“You have _that_ right. Man was a wreck the last time I saw him. What about the others? Hear from any of the non-humans from the crew?”

I finished my soup and set the bowl aside, just in time for the next course to arrive: an artichoke salad with some kind of beans and a tart dressing. “Tali and I exchange messages once in a while. She is back with the Migrant Fleet, working for their Admiralty Board. Wrex is on Tuchanka, taking on the role of a warlord. He seems to be trying to gather the krogan clans, push them into something more productive than the eternal war amongst themselves.”

“Hmm. Nothing wrong with that, I guess, _if_ he can pull it off. What about Garrus?”

I shook my head. “I’m afraid he seems to have vanished as well. He abandoned his Spectre candidacy months ago, resigned from C-Sec, and left the Citadel. I don’t know where he has gone.”

“That bad?”

“You know that I’ve gone into business as an information broker?”

She nodded.

“Ashley, I’m very worried about Garrus. If _I_ can’t locate him, with all my resources, it’s possible that . . . he simply _cannot_ be found.”

“No, I don’t buy it,” she said firmly. “That bird is _much_ too tough and stubborn to just die in a ditch somewhere. He’s up to something. He’ll probably turn up again, just when you least expect it.”

“I hope you’re right.”

She toyed with her salad a little, not meeting my gaze, but then she seemed to make up her mind about something. “How are _you_ doing, Liara?”

Briefly I considered pretending to not understand her question, but then I realized that would be insulting her intelligence. I sighed. “It seems so silly, Ashley. I only knew him for how long? Four months, give or take a few days? And it has been over a year now since he was killed. You would think I would be getting past this.”

She reached out and patted my hand. “I know better than that, Liara. What you and Shepard had . . . it was pretty remarkable. I’m not surprised if it’s taking a long time to move on.”

“I suppose,” I said, smiling my thanks. “I get through each day one at a time. Work helps. So I keep busy, and sometimes I can go an entire day without thinking of him, without missing him. It’s the nights that are the hardest.”

“This is probably a really inappropriate question, but have you given any thought to finding someone else?”

“No. I’m afraid I haven’t met anyone who wouldn’t suffer in comparison.”

She snorted in ironic amusement. “Point taken. He _was_ rather larger-than-life.”

“No one has expressed an interest in any case.” I shrugged. “Don’t worry about me, Ashley. Given what could happen if the Reapers ever appear . . . I have too much work to spend time worrying about my personal feelings.”

“Well, be sure to come up for air from time to time. Even asari geniuses like you need that.”

“I will.” I smiled at her. “Good friends help too.”

_She **is** a good friend, despite all our differences._

_Should I tell her about Shepard and Cerberus?_

I thought about that for a _long_ moment.

_No. She does not approve of Cerberus . . . and there is still no assurance that they will be able to revive Shepard. Why give her false hope? Time enough to bring her into the secret if he does return, if he is once again the same man he was._

So I said nothing, and we moved on to other topics of conversation. It was good to see Ashley again, alive and vibrant and full of energy. She was not much changed from her time aboard _Normandy_ , unless she had matured a little, become even stronger and more confident than I remembered.

We sat together for most of an hour, enjoying a truly superb meal, twice reassuring Samesh that we were more than satisfied. Other diners came and went at the nearby tables. We watched as the crowds in the streets below celebrated their holiday, as fireworks surged and ebbed over the Arabian Sea.

An odd color caught my eye, a deep red light, gleaming in what was left of my last glass of wine. It glittered there, then moved deliberately up and away from my glass, not in time with any of the changes of light out over the city . . .

I threw myself out of my chair and overturned the table, sending the last remains of our meal flying.

“Liara?” Ashley shouted her confusion.

_Goddess, there must be twenty other people out here on the terrace!_

“ _Get down!_ ” I screamed. I flung out one hand as a corona surged around my body.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the other diners begin to turn, watching us in shock.

A solid barrier of blue-white light snapped into place, protecting as much of the terrace as I could reach.

Two seconds later, a rocket slammed into my barrier at supersonic velocity and exploded. An enormous roar deafened us, light and flame blinded everyone on the terrace . . . but my barrier held, deflecting the blast outward.

Then I heard nothing but the sound of human voices, raised in surprise and anger. I remained standing with my arm outstretched, glowing head to foot with bright light, holding the barrier in place.

“Everyone get off the terrace _now!_ ” snapped Ashley, a note of command in her voice.

Two other diners, a pair of Alliance soldiers, snapped to attention and began to help get everyone to safety. Only when all the humans had moved inside the building did I slowly back away, still holding the barrier in place until I could withdraw as well.

* * *

I spent most of the next four hours talking to metropolitan constables, then to an officer of the Maharashtra state police, then to a very senior official from the Ministry of Home Affairs. At first the constables were suspicious that I had somehow _caused_ the explosion, but they dropped that line of thought after several witnesses reported sighting the rocket as it flew toward our building. Then they wondered how I could have known the rocket was coming in time to erect a biotic barrier. I explained that the rocket had been homing on an infrared targeting laser, and that asari vision was sensitive somewhat further into the infrared than humans could manage. I had spotted the laser beam as it refracted through my wineglass, and had realized what it meant just in time to take action.

The Home Affairs official was a rather formidable man named Rajendra Singh. Unlike the other constables, he wore a deep blue turban rather than a peaked cap, his most striking features a very full iron-gray beard and mustache. As soon as he arrived and caught up with events, he came over to Ashley and me and made a shallow bow.

“Dr. T’Soni. I apologize for you being detained this long. The constables here are not accustomed to this kind of terrorist action.”

“This was _terrorists?_ ” snapped Ashley.

“Indeed, Lieutenant Williams.” Singh’s face remained impassive, but his eyes gleamed with fierce anger. “A call came in to Metropolitan Police headquarters just before I arrived. The terrorist group called _Cerberus_ has claimed responsibility for this attack.”

Ashley cursed viciously.

My thoughts raced.

 _Something is not right here_. _Even though I happen to know that there is a Cerberus cell based here in Mumbai._

“Mr. Singh, how certain are you of that? Cerberus is not in the habit of openly claiming responsibility for their actions. They are not normally interested in publicity.”

He gave me a respectful nod. “You are very knowledgeable, Doctor. That is true. We will of course investigate further. The point is that you have been cleared of all suspicion in this incident. Most likely you were the intended _target_ of the attack. In any case, you are to be praised for saving so many lives.”

I shivered. “I was very fortunate. If I hadn’t seen that laser . . .”

“Fortune favors the prepared,” said Singh. “Do you wish police escort back to your lodgings?”

“Please. I will be ready to leave in a few moments.”

Singh bowed once again in acceptance, then turned away to pursue his own investigation.

I found Samesh in the kitchen, calming his staff and trying to plan for the next day. I quickly explained what we had learned. “I am so sorry for bringing this down upon you,” I concluded.

He smiled warmly and embraced me. “Nonsense, Doctor. You are always welcome here, no matter what some hooligans and criminals may do.”

* * *

Back at the Taj Mahal Palace, I went directly to our command suite rather than to my own room. T’Soni Analytics had rented a number of rooms, setting up one sumptuous suite as a command center for our analytic work. There, if nowhere else on Earth, I could be reasonably certain of _secure_ communications, proof even against Systems Alliance eavesdropping.

I shooed out two analysts working a very late shift, sat down at a terminal, and entered my code for Miranda.

While I waited for the call to go through, I made a small wager with myself. If the connection required less than five minutes, then I felt willing to conclude that Cerberus had nothing to do with the rocket attack. If it took more than fifteen minutes, I would have to begin a rather drastic reassessment of my relationship with Cerberus. Anything in between . . . it would depend on what Miranda had to say.

As it happened, Miranda appeared on the screen in six minutes and thirty-five seconds.

“Dr. T’Soni? It’s been a long time. What leads you to call?”

“I’m on Earth at the moment, in Mumbai. Someone just did his level best to kill both me and Lieutenant Ashley Williams, along with a number of innocent bystanders. The constabulary is under the impression that Cerberus has claimed responsibility for the act.”

I was tempted to record what happened next in my journal: Miranda Lawson blinked in surprise and had no immediate response.

“I am . . . _reasonably_ certain that this is nonsense,” I said after holding her gaze for several long seconds. “I still think you can understand why I would like some reassurance from you. Or from your principal.”

“My God. Doctor, I have _no knowledge_ of any hostile action toward you. I have been given no orders to treat you as anything but a potential ally.”

“That was very precisely phrased, and _not at all reassuring_ given the Cerberus command structure.”

I am quite sure that coldly beautiful face had never gone so far as to express _embarrassment_ before, but on that occasion it came very close. “Yes, quite. Please stand by.”

This time the wait lasted twelve minutes and forty-five seconds, and I began to be quite concerned. Then the screen cleared once more. Miranda had gone. Instead, a male human lounged in his command chair, smoking a cigarette, watching me with oddly glowing blue eyes.

“Illusive Man,” I greeted him.

“Doctor. I apologize for taking so long to answer your call. I’ve been looking into what happened there.”

“What have you discovered?”

“Enough to say with complete certainty that the attack was _not_ carried out by any Cerberus assets. Someone is using false-flag tactics against us.”

“Do you know who?”

“Not yet.” The Illusive Man used his cigarette, and then blew out a long breath full of smoke. “It may interest you to know that a certain name has become associated with you. _Kalliste Renai_.”

I felt a chill down my spine. Lightning-quick, I weighed alternatives and decided to offer some information in the hopes of getting more in return. “Someone has discovered my _alter ego_ , then. I suppose it was inevitable.”

He smiled slightly at me. “I can understand the desire to use a hands-on approach, Doctor, but you were very careless to re-use that identity. If you’re going to succeed in this business, you may want to change your methods.”

“So Kalliste Renai’s enemies have discovered that they are also _my_ enemies.” I made a mental list, with Jona Sederis and Eclipse at the top. “All right, I will take the necessary precautions. I will also investigate further using my own resources.”

“Do that. In the meantime, let’s discuss our mutual interests, so you can be assured that Cerberus is _not_ one of your enemies.”

I shrugged. “I understand the situation. We both take the threat of the Reapers seriously.”

“Yes, and we’re almost the only ones in the galaxy who do. Your approach to the problem differs from mine, but I would be a fool to get in your way . . . so long as you extend me the same courtesy.”

“I can do that. For now, at least.”

“That’s all I ask. As for our _other_ mutual interests . . . here, you may find these files interesting.”

An icon appeared in the lower right-hand corner of my screen. I touched it to open the documents the Illusive Man had sent me.

Photographs and videos.

 _Shepard_.

I managed to seize control of my face just in time, remembering that the Illusive Man was watching me for any sign of weakness.

Shepard lay on a medical bed, a light blanket covering him below the hips, tubes and medical instruments attached here and there about his body. I remembered his corpse, the horrible _thing_ that he had become after the destruction of the _Normandy_. Now he seemed whole again: two feet under the blanket, two legs, torso fully clothed in flesh, two big capable hands resting atop the blanket, two muscular arms, broad chest. His face, his _face_ was there again, familiar as a painful dream, eyes closed as if in simple sleep.

His chest was rising and falling gently. He was _breathing_.

“I don’t want to give you false hope, Doctor,” said the Illusive Man. “Rebuilding his body, even re-establishing the natural homeostasis of his living tissues, all of that was _easy_. If he awakens, he will be better than he was: tougher, faster, and stronger. _If_ he awakens. Reaching _that_ point is what will truly challenge us.”

I understood exactly what he was hoping to accomplish. He wanted to distract me, encourage me to continue thinking of him as an ally . . . right up to the moment that it became expedient for him to betray me.

_Goddess help me, it may even be working._

“Even this much is a truly remarkable achievement,” I said calmly, forcing my emotions down into a securely locked container in the back of my mind. “Please pass my compliments to Miranda and her team.”

“I will. You see, I hope, that I have _no_ interest in opposing you at this time?”

I smiled at the Illusive Man, ever so slightly.

 _I see the plan_. _You appeal to my sense of duty, emphasizing our common opposition to the Reapers. Then you hope to bribe me with Shepard . . . whom you expect in turn to use as your tool. In the end you think to own both of us._

All I said aloud was: “I understand. Thank you for your time. I will contact you again through Miranda if necessary.”

“Of course, Doctor.” One hand reached out, and the Illusive Man’s image vanished, leaving me to stare at the inactive terminal.

_You had best hope that Miranda does her work poorly. If she restores Shepard as he was, then he will **never** be merely your tool. Not if he is truly the man I loved._

_Not if I have a chance to speak to him again._


	25. Retrenchment

**_Early November 2184 to Early January 2185, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

I left Earth just after the Alliance elections concluded. The Indian Progressive Alliance performed well in the elections, increasing its roster of seats in Parliament. Its leader, Amul Shastri, even won election as the new Prime Minister for the Systems Alliance.

On the whole I felt pleased with our work. T’Soni Analytics made a substantial profit on the contract, and our clients expressed complete satisfaction with our performance. Meanwhile the Alliance government moved slightly further toward policies of galactic engagement and strong defense. I counted it as one more small victory against the Reapers.

No more obvious attempts on my life took place. Even so, as soon as I returned to my office in Nos Astra, I quietly began taking precautions.

I had plenty of resources to throw at the problem. By that time T’Soni Analytics was well over a _billion_ credits in the black. We consistently pulled in four to five million credits in profit each day. I had already recouped my initial investment and the purchase price for _Themis_ ; now I worked to repay the funds diverted from Benezia’s estate to the Eden Prime recovery project.

With a few keystrokes and a word to Aspasia, I doubled Arin’s budget for technical security. With the new resources he was able to push our cryptography, our firewalls, and our intrusion detection systems out to the very edge of what was possible at the time. By the end of 2184, the Council itself probably did not have a better information assurance posture than ours. In the process, Arin located and destroyed no fewer than _seven_ implants inside our low-security network. Someone, most likely several someones, had been monitoring our communications. We put a stop to that . . . and fortunately we found nothing inside our _high-security_ networks that we didn’t expect to be there.

We could also improve our physical security. Located high up on the side of an _ouranonikos_ building, especially one that I owned, made the central office surprisingly easy to turn into a fortress. We installed redundant backups on air, water, power, and lift systems, improved the internal monitors, stockpiled supplies and weapons, and placed discreet kinetic barriers and point-defense weapons on the exterior of the building. Before long the office could stand up to anything short of a full military assault.

My apartment, on the other hand, presented a serious vulnerability. It had not been built with high-level security in mind. Yet I was reluctant to move. The thought of living my life within a fortress repelled me. I remembered Matriarch Pytho, living and working deep inside her mountain, never seeing the sun or the stars from one day to the next, and I had to shudder. Instead I set up a shell corporation, bought the entire apartment building, and began offering “security upgrades” to all the tenants. Starting with the famous archaeologist living in Suite Nine-Delta.

At the same time, I used another set of shell corporations to set up safe houses scattered around Nos Astra. Before I was finished, I had half a dozen of these, set up in ordinary apartment buildings, out-of-the-way warehouses, and the like. In each I stored panic supplies: food, water, clothing, medical gear, power and network access that wouldn’t show up on the grid, weapons and equipment, false identities. I felt the need to have a few places ready to run to in an emergency. Just in case.

* * *

**_11 January 2185, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

The VI announced a visitor at the door, and opened it on my order. Aspasia came in, as always wearing a stylish gown, this time in crimson with an outrageous cutout that displayed her cleavage down past her navel. She embraced me and then followed me into the living area. “What is it, Liara? You’re being _very_ mysterious.”

I held a finger to my lips, asking for silence, and then opened my omni-tool to run the scanning software Arin had provided. I scanned my friend, head to toe.

“All right. You’re clean,” I told her.

She frowned, her voice serious. “You’re afraid I might be bugged?”

“Let’s just say I don’t want to take any chances.”

“Should we be meeting at your apartment, then?”

I made a gesture indicating the room. “I’m confident this place is safe. The apartment still _looks_ ordinary enough, but it’s very well defended against eavesdropping or attack.”

“If you say so. What did you want to talk about?”

I sat down close to her on the couch, tucking my legs beneath me. “Aspasia, there’s something I haven’t told anyone until now,” I continued. “You may have noticed that since Mumbai I haven’t directed any new assets to monitoring Cerberus.”

“Yevgeni mentioned it to me. He thought it was rather strange, considering they were supposedly behind the attack on you.”

“What no one in the firm knows, not even Yevgeni, is that I have direct personal contacts with Cerberus. I’ve spoken to the leader of the whole organization, more than once.”

Aspasia’s eyes widened in shock. “Liara! They’re _terrorists_.”

“Yes, they are.” I held her gaze with a stony expression. “They are also a temporary ally of convenience and an occasional source of critical information. Is this a problem?”

She had to think about it for a moment, but then she shook her head. “I suppose not. Given some of the pirates, mercenaries, and gangsters we have on the informant rolls, I suppose terrorists aren’t much of a leap.”

“Now, after the rocket attack I contacted Cerberus on a secure channel. Their leader told me that they were _not_ behind the attack, and I have good reason to believe him. But there was something else. He knew that I am Kalliste Renai.”

Her green eyes fixed on mine, and I could tell she was thinking quickly.

“Aspasia, if _Cerberus_ knows about the Renai identity, then we can no longer assume it’s a secret. Any of Renai’s enemies might be behind the attack in Mumbai. Jona Sederis and Eclipse. Whoever was behind the scheme against Matriarch Pytho. _Dalatrass_ Renvir. Battlemaster Kalusk and his Blood Pack. The Facinus separatists on Taetrus.”

“Most likely Eclipse,” she guessed. “Kalliste Renai gave them a bloody nose twice, and they won’t have forgotten. They’re also the most likely to have the resources needed to operate on Earth.”

“Probably, but you’re missing the point. _How did the secret get out in the first place?_ ”

She frowned.

“Aspasia, aside from me only six people should know for certain that I was ever Kalliste Renai: you, Yevgeni, James, Vara, Quintus, and Arin. We sealed the relevant mission reports tightly, and sanitized them before they went to Analysis. No one else ever saw me make the transition. Others in the firm might know I was in the field at the relevant times, but that’s not enough to prove the connection.”

“You’re saying that we might have a mole,” said Aspasia quietly.

“I’m afraid so.”

She nodded. “Since we’re talking about it, I assume you don’t suspect me.”

I reached out and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Aspasia, I would trust you with my life. You’re the one person in the firm that I’m absolutely certain is _not_ a mole.”

“Thank you.” She dropped her eyes, thinking hard. “I can vouch for Yevgeni.”

“Can you?” I asked, very quietly.

“Absolutely. That man has no secrets from _me_ ,” she said smugly. “Besides, he’s _utterly_ loyal to you. I think he would _die_ rather than betray you. I should be _jealous_.”

“Hmm. Well, that makes three of us who aren’t a mole. Can we eliminate anyone else?”

Slowly, she shook her head. “I don’t think so. Quintus and Arin both seem utterly honest, but I can’t prove that they’re clean. I don’t know James or Vara well enough to be certain. And it’s at least possible that the information got out through other means. Suppose we have an implant in our high-security networks?”

“Arin’s team didn’t find any.” Then I stopped, realizing what I had just said. “Goddess, if we can’t trust _Arin_ then none of our technology is safe.”

“I know you have to worry about the possibility, but that is _not_ how I would bet. I don’t think that quarian even knows how to lie.”

“I suppose you’re right.” I sighed. “All right, this is what I want to do. Talk to Yevgeni, somewhere that you can be _sure_ nobody else is listening. Then the three of us are going to make some plans.”

Aspasia looked at me suspiciously. “Liara, you have that _expression_ on your face. The one that usually precedes some _outrageously_ audacious and foolhardy scheme.”

I raised my hands in a fending-off gesture. “Not at all. I may have the beginnings of an idea, nothing more than that.”

“I don’t believe a _word_ you’re saying.”

* * *

**_15 January 2185, T’Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

I watched the turian as he stood at attention on the other side of my desk. From long experience I knew better than to offer him a seat, or any refreshments. He would simply ignore the offer, never moving a muscle, but somehow radiating a sense of affronted dignity.

Goddess, I did _not_ want to believe that he could possibly betray me.

I kept my mixed feelings out of my face and voice as I spoke. “Quintus, I think it’s time that we changed our force-protection strategy.”

“What do you have in mind, Doctor?”

“You may remember the discussion we had when I hired you.”

He nodded slowly. “You suggested that Security might be called on to be a little _aggressive_ in defending our interests.”

“I think we have reached that point.”

“Do you have a target in mind?” he asked mildly.

“Not yet.” I gave him a quizzical stare, searching for subtle signs of guilty knowledge. I saw none. “As I recall, you had some reservations at the time.”

“Doctor, when I applied for this position I already knew that you were a civilian, and new to the intelligence business. Civilians often get some . . . _odd_ ideas as to what’s involved.”

I had to smile slightly. “You thought I was going to start issuing hit orders on a whim?”

“Nothing so crude,” he replied, his mandibles twitching slightly in amusement. “I did suspect that once you realized that force was available, you might succumb to the temptation to use it as an _expedient_ , instead of as a last resort.”

“And now?”

“Now I know you better.” His stance shifted slightly. “Besides, Doctor, someone tried to _kill_ you a few weeks ago. If there’s no recourse to the law, then I have _no problem_ using force to communicate the idea that this was an unwise and impolite thing to do.”

 _How could I have ever thought Quintus had no sense of humor?_ Now I smiled openly at him. “Illium is not like the Turian Hierarchy, Quintus. There _is_ rule of law here, but it only applies to those who lack the resources to _buy_ the law. Earn the attention of the greater players, begin to work with them or compete with them openly, and you obtain all the dubious benefits of anarchy. No longer bound by law, but also no longer protected by it.”

“You’ll forgive me, Doctor, if I find that rather revolting.”

“I would be surprised if you didn’t. What it means is that we must see to our own protection. If and when we find a target, I will expect you to be ready to strike.”

“You have my word,” said the turian.

“Good. In the meantime there are some other things we can do. I want you to assign bodyguards to Aspasia, Nyxeris, and me. Choose the largest, most intimidating turians on your staff who also have the proper training. These bodyguards _must_ be seen to be on hand and ready for violence at all times, whenever any of the three of us are in public.”

Quintus made the narrowed-gaze expression that stood in for a frown among turians. “I don’t understand. Only the three of you? What about the other department heads?”

“You and the other department heads are not asari. I’m concerned about your safety as well, but it isn’t as important that your personal security be highly _visible_.” I leaned back in my chair and steepled my fingers. “We may not know who our enemy is yet, but I’m willing to bet that she is asari and based here on Illium.”

“That’s how I would bet too.”

“Then we may be able to get somewhere by appealing to asari psychology.” I appeared to change the subject. “Quintus, how do turians gain status in the Hierarchy?”

“Through competent and disciplined service to the _res publica_ , of course.”

“Well, we asari are highly gregarious and social beings, but we don’t have anything like the turian concept of the _res publica_. You turians find it so easy to give your loyalty to an abstract State that you were doing it before you had _language_. We asari just don’t have the same psychological drives.”

Quintus snorted. “Yes, we’ve noticed. Anarchic bunch. Some of us wonder how you’ve managed to maintain such a high civilization for so long.”

“That’s because we have something to replace it: _areté_.”

He blinked. “I think my translator just glitched.”

“I’m not surprised.” I thought for a moment, trying to decide how best to explain the concept to a turian. “It is possible for an individual asari to attract the admiration and loyalty of other asari, through some combination of personal beauty, sexual mystique, athletic ability, persuasive charm, mastery of a useful skill, control of a valuable resource, or simply a reputation for sheer intelligence and wisdom.”

The turian’s mouth hung slightly open, exposing his fangs, and his mandibles twitched in a manner I had never seen before. I decided the expression indicated _complete_ confusion.

“You will notice what I did _not_ include in that list,” I said at last.

“Right,” he growled, recovering. “Not a word about service to the State, or to _any_ institution.”

“Correct. Now, _areté_ is often _correlated_ with work in the military, in political office, in business, and so on. An asari who succeeds in any of those positions is demonstrating _areté_ and tends to attract the admiration and loyalty of others. But that attraction is always on a _personal_ basis. The moment she moves on to a new position, her _areté_ goes with her, leaving none behind for her replacement.”

“That is . . . just so _bizarre_.”

“It works for us. We’re wired for it.”

“If you say so.” He sighed. “What does this have to do with assigning bodyguards?”

“Well, in some ways the asari leading our firm are handicapped when it comes to demonstrating _areté_. Take me, for example. I’m not unattractive by asari standards, but I’m no great beauty. I have no sexual mystique to speak of; as far as most asari are aware, I’ve _never_ taken a lover. I’m physically fit and had some athletic success when I was very young, but I’ve never developed a wide reputation for it. I’ve learned to be persuasive in social situations, but many other asari have more natural charm. I have a considerable scientific reputation, but not in a field that most asari value. I do control this firm, which counts as a valuable resource, but it’s hardly unique. I am _far_ too young to have any reputation for great wisdom.” I spread my hands, as if laying out a proof for his inspection. “Quintus, most asari who matter are not going to _want_ to take me seriously. Not until we force them to.”

“Hmm. I remember that Matriarch Thessala underestimated you, back on Thessia.”

“This is most likely why.” I shook my head. “Don’t misunderstand me, Quintus. None of this is so ingrained into our psychology that other asari will be _unable_ to take us seriously. Anyone who gets to know me well – or Aspasia, or Nyxeris – will discover our _areté_ for themselves. My concern is that our enemies won’t bother to get to know us well. If we don’t _look_ like a threat, someone whom it’s better not to interfere with, then there may be more attempts to harm us.”

Quintus nodded slowly. “Hence the bodyguards. As big and intimidating as you can get.”

“Exactly. Asari who have great _areté_ that is recognized by everyone, who attract many followers, are often accompanied by bodyguards. The bodyguards themselves are an expression of _areté_. Without words, their presence says something like . . . _do not think to interfere with this asari. She is one to be listened to and obeyed._ ”

“Matriarchs and their commando escorts,” he observed. “I always wondered why your commandos tend to wear those body-hugging outfits in black leather. It seems kind of impractical.”

I smiled. “It is. But it is also very intimidating, at least to asari eyes.”

Quintus grunted. “I suppose big turians with lots of fangs and talons and knives and _really nasty guns_ can send the same message. Not to mention being ready to end anyone stupid enough not to listen to what their instincts are telling them.”

“That’s the plan.”

* * *

**_21 January 2185, T’Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

“Liara, could I steal a few minutes of your time?”

I glanced up from my desk to see Aspasia stepping into my office, closing the door behind her.

“What is it?”

“I think we may have figured out who was behind Mumbai.”

I stared. “I’ve been working on that problem for _weeks_ now, with no luck.”

“I know,” she said apologetically. “You’ve been trying to figure out who might have been angry enough at Kalliste Renai to send an assassin after you once they learned you and she were the same person.”

“Right. The problem is that there are too many candidates, and at least one of them we never identified. I haven’t been able to narrow it down.”

“We tried something different. A new line of approach. We can’t _prove_ we’re right, but we think it’s worth further attention.”

Some hesitation in her voice caused me to give her a suspicious glance. “Who are _we_ , Aspasia?”

“Me, Yevgeni . . . and Quintus.”

I frowned. “We have _not_ cleared Quintus yet.”

“I know. I don’t think it matters. Liara, _Quintus_ came to _Yevgeni_ on this. If he was a mole, why would he do that?”

“To spread misinformation.”

“Maybe. I think you still should hear us out. Then you can decide whether to act on it.”

I leaned back in my chair and steepled my fingers, thinking hard. After about two minutes I nodded slowly. “All right. But tell Yevgeni before we begin: there is to be _no mention_ of the Kalliste Renai identity, or of my contacts with Cerberus, or of the possibility of a mole, while Quintus is in the room. Until we can _prove_ that Quintus is clean, I don’t want him to know that we suspect anything or why. And I don’t think we can take anything he gives us as completely reliable.”

“Understood. I’ll call them in.”

Yevgeni and Quintus arrived within a few minutes, both of them looking somewhat predatory. For once, even the big turian elected to sit down as we all gathered around my conference table.

“Doctor, I’m not sure but I think we have a good idea who our enemy might be,” said Yevgeni. “Quintus came up with the first idea, said he had a conversation with you a few days ago that got him thinking. He came to me, and we firmed the idea up some. Then we called on Aspasia for some of her specific expertise.”

“All right,” I said calmly. “Who else knows about this?”

“No one,” said Quintus. “Something told me we should keep this to ourselves. In particular, aside from Aspasia I didn’t want any of the asari staff to hear about it before we could talk to you.”

“Why _asari_ in particular?”

The turian’s avian eyes focused on me. “I think you’ll understand once we’ve laid out the argument.”

I shrugged and spread my hands, inviting them to proceed.

“Let’s start with this,” said Aspasia, tapping at the console in front of her. A holo-window appeared over the table, displaying a very long list of names. Scanning the list, I saw that the vast majority of the names were asari, with a noticeable amount of repetition among the lineage names. “Here we have the top two hundred personal incomes on Illium, based on last year’s data.”

“Hmm. Am I on this list?”

Aspasia shook her head. “Not quite. With your profits from this firm, and your income from Matriarch Benezia’s prior investments, you made about a billion and a half credits in the last standard year. The lowest personal incomes on this list come in just under two billion credits. You will probably move up onto the list next year, as the firm becomes more profitable and you continue to reinvest the bulk of your income.”

I shook my head. “Sorry. I know it’s not relevant. I was just curious.”

“Actually it _is_ relevant,” said Aspasia. “Quintus?”

“It was our conversation that gave me the idea,” said the big turian. “Assume that our enemy is asari, and that she’s angry at you because we’ve interfered with her plans. It occurred to me that we’ve had two missions where we interfered _really badly_ with asari plans. That business on Terapso, and then those pirate attacks on the IDF.”

I nodded slowly, keeping my best poker face in place. “I’m with you so far.”

Quintus leaned forward. “Well, I got to thinking about what our adversaries were doing in those missions. In both cases the adversary was going after _older_ asari in a position of influence: the Terapso Port Authority in one case, Matriarch Pytho in the other. In both cases the scheme involved trying to seize a specific _resource_ that the target controlled: ARGOS and the IDF. What does that suggest to you?”

I opened my mouth, closed it again, and began to think furiously.

_Goddess, right in front of me and I never saw it._

“Attacks on the _areté_ of successful elders,” said Aspasia after a moment. “How does an asari gain power, if she isn’t willing to wait centuries for the chance to inherit it? She tries to make her elders look weak and foolish, while at the same time trying to make herself look bold and resourceful. They lose _areté_ , she gains it. Eventually their followers start abandoning them and coming over to her camp. Half the stories out of asari legend use that theme.”

I nodded, forgetting my suspicions of Quintus in the pleasure of an intellectual problem to be solved. “We never had any reason to assume that the two incidents were causally connected . . . but you’re proposing that the same motivations were behind both. That suggests in turn that it might have been the same _person_.”

“It seemed at least worth considering,” said Quintus. “Then it turned out to be such a productive line of reasoning that we decided to run with it.”

“So we’re looking for a relatively _young_ asari. Say, no more than about five centuries old.”

“That was our estimate as well,” said Aspasia, smiling and tapping at her controls. Almost nine-tenths of the names faded to near-invisibility, leaving only a few brightly lit.

“You asari _really_ concentrate wealth in the hands of your elders, don’t you?” observed Yevgeni.

I shrugged. “It comes with our life cycle. It’s unusual for asari to inherit wealth or property from their parents until they are well past their maiden years.”

“Maidens usually don’t build fortunes of their own, either,” said Aspasia. “The instinct to settle down and start accumulating wealth doesn’t normally come until the passage into matron status.”

Yevgeni only glanced at me, one skeptical eyebrow raised.

“I’m something of an exception on both counts,” I admitted. “I was born very late in my mother’s life, and my motivations are . . . unusual for my stage of life.”

“What she’s saying is that she’s a freak of nature,” said Aspasia.

“Well, we knew _that,”_ said Quintus.

I looked around the table and decided to be amused rather than angry. “All right. We’ve cut the list down to . . . twenty-three names. Can we narrow it any further?”

“Sure,” said Yevgeni. “This was my contribution. What we have is a young and _very ambitious_ asari. Going after ARGOS was clever and audacious enough, but going after Matriarch Pytho took _balls_.”

Quintus gave him a quizzical stare.

“Figuratively speaking,” said the human.

“We’ll discuss your favorite metaphors later, love,” Aspasia purred dangerously. “At length.”

“Your point,” I commanded.

Yevgeni nodded and pointed to the holo-window before us. “This is where your question about _your_ position on the list becomes relevant, Doctor. The list tends to be fairly stable, especially for the old, long-established interests. For example, the membership of the Twelve doesn’t change much even over a time-scale of decades, and it’s very rare for any of them to move even one space up or down on the list. There’s more churn in the lower ranks, but even there it’s unusual for anyone to zoom up or down more than, say, thirty spaces in a single year. Moving up the list that quickly takes either a lot of luck . . . or a lot of ruthless ambition. So let’s filter out anyone who hasn’t moved up the list at least that far in the past year.”

Aspasia tapped at her controls again. Most of the names on the list disappeared entirely, leaving only six, which expanded and moved together to form a much shorter list.

I saw it then.

“One more filter,” I said slowly. “Yevgeni, how is our visibility into Eclipse?”

“Not too bad,” said the spy. “We have a fairly good picture of who employs their services on a regular basis, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s correct. Let’s filter out anyone who doesn’t have frequent and continuing contacts with Eclipse.”

The list shrank down to a single name. I nodded grimly, my suspicions confirmed.

 _Nassana Dantius_.


	26. Shadow War

**_21 January 2185, T’Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

I remembered the last time time I had encountered Nassana Dantius.

It happened almost two years before, only a few days after I joined Shepard’s crew. At that time Nassana worked as a diplomat on the Citadel. She sent a message to _Normandy_ , warning us about a nest of pirates and slavers operating from the planet Sharjila. According to Nassana, her sister Dahlia had been _captured_ by these slavers and was being held for ransom. She offered a reward for a rescue.

I still remembered that mission with a great deal of warmth; it had created an initial foundation for the mutual respect and affection that later grew between Shepard and me. For the first time, he invited me to come along as part of his combat team. Together we attacked and destroyed the slaver gang, but we discovered that they held no captives.

Digging through their records afterward, we learned the truth. Nassana had lied to us. Her sister had not been a captive, but the _leader_ of the pirates, an asari I had killed during the assault. Nassana had known this fact the entire time. Her sister had been an embarrassment, a threat to her career, so she had set out to manipulate Shepard into eliminating the problem for her.

When we returned to the Citadel, Shepard confronted Nassana. He all but blackmailed her into abandoning her diplomatic career and leaving the Citadel. She was _furious_ , but she didn’t consider it wise to oppose a Spectre, so in the end she obeyed. In fact, now that I thought about it, I had been the one to suggest that she return to Illium and pursue a corporate career instead.

 _No wonder she hates me_. _It’s no surprise she would try to kill me. It’s more surprising that she waited so long._

Since then Nassana had barely come to my notice. I remembered seeing her once or twice at a distance, at one gathering or another of Nos Astra’s aristocracy, but we never had much reason to speak. She and I didn’t work in the same line of business and moved in very different social circles. In truth, I had barely thought of her in almost two years.

When my meeting with Aspasia, Yevgeni, and Quintus ended, I ordered all three of them to say nothing to anyone of what we had discovered. I would _personally_ investigate further and decide what course of action to take. Aspasia and Yevgeni understood at once and agreed. Quintus gave me a suspicious glance, but nodded and raised no argument.

Alone in my office, I dove into our files to learn all I could about Nassana Dantius. I found surprisingly little.

We had no informants and no network implants within Dantius Industries. Public records described the firm as a diverse holding, involved in resource extraction, high-technology manufactures, shipping, and finance. It took advantage of its location on Illium to do a great deal of business out in the Terminus Systems. Corporate revenues currently hovered in the neighborhood of five billion credits per year, representing considerable expansion over the two years since Nassana had taken direct control. The firm was in the process of building an ambitious new corporate headquarters in Nos Astra.

Two facts did attract my eye. Dantius Industries had a long-standing relationship with Eclipse, who provided most of the firm’s security. Meanwhile, several individuals who had gotten in Nassana’s way had suddenly turned up dead under suspicious circumstances. The allegations had not risen so far as to attract the attention of Illium law – Nassana had enough wealth to buy the law in any case – but rumor in high places considered it _not_ wise to cross her.

I remembered my encounter with Nassana, two years before on the Citadel. Shepard had not bothered to introduce me to her, yet she had known at once who I was, and had even known enough to insult me by calling me a _pureblood_. Perhaps she had simply researched Shepard’s crew, but it had still been an impressive feat. Clearly Nassana was a dangerous opponent.

A wisp of memory came to me, something else Nassana had said during that conversation. I performed another query and discovered that Nassana still had living relatives. I had killed her sister Dahlia on Sharjila, but she still had another sister. Moira Dantius had been cut out of any significant share in Dantius Industries. She lived on Cyone, with a not-very-generous allowance from lineage funds.

I leaned back in my chair and turned to look out the great windows behind my desk. I felt a plan beginning to form.

* * *

**_22 January 2185, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

That night, alone in my apartment, I found myself unable to sleep. In the small hours of the morning I pulled on a white silk night-tunic and padded down the stairs to make a mug of hot chocolate. Then I sat in my living room with the untouched drink, staring at Shepard’s chest plate without really seeing it.

I had to act. Yet I couldn’t act alone, and I didn’t have enough people that I _knew_ I could trust. Only Yevgeni and Aspasia – but Aspasia would be no use in a fight or an infiltration mission, and Yevgeni alone didn’t have all of the skills I thought we would need.

I would have given anything to have Garrus and Tali close by . . . but Garrus was gone, Goddess alone knew where, and Tali was too bound up in her work for the Migrant Fleet. I had Quintus and Arin, but cold logic told me I couldn’t trust either of them yet. If I deployed them for a mission against Nassana Dantius, either of them might lead me into a death-trap.

A mole had to be someone I would _want_ to trust, someone who didn’t look like a mole, otherwise he would be ineffective.

Of course, by that reasoning I couldn’t trust _anyone_. Not even Aspasia. After all, I hadn’t decided to trust her based on any rational argument or proof, only on my _instinct_ that she would never betray me. My instincts had been wrong before.

For the first time in months, I felt very much alone and afraid.

Well, there _was_ one place I could go for help.

I almost did it. I went so far as to cross the room and sit down in my office, bringing up my computer terminal.

After all, Cerberus already knew I had a security leak. Calling on them to help me close it would reveal nothing new to them. It would be a simple exchange of favors, perhaps a partial repayment for my cooperation after Shepard’s death. _Mutual interests_ in action, as the Illusive Man would say. There wouldn’t be any need to _trust_ them.

I touched the console.

 _Stop. Wait just a moment_.

I only knew that there might be a mole in my organization because of something the Illusive Man had told me.

Because of something _the Illusive Man_ had told me.

Why had he phrased his warning in just that way? He was certainly intelligent and resourceful enough to have anticipated Quintus’s reasoning. He might already have known when I spoke to him that Nassana Dantius stood behind Mumbai. If so, he could have simply _given_ me the information I needed. Instead he had been ambiguous, revealing only what it suited him to reveal.

Could it be that I was reacting just as he expected me to react? Just as he _wanted_ me to react?

Suddenly not trusting my own people. Cut off, alienated, unable to use my own resources for fear they would turn against me. Ready to turn to Cerberus itself for help . . . and the moment I did that for the first time, that would be the end of my independence. Cerberus would _own_ me.

“No,” I said to myself, leaning back away from the console.

From where I was sitting, I could just see the case containing Shepard’s chest plate.

_What would you have done?_

Shepard had not been able to uncritically trust all of his crew. Kaidan Alenko may have been the only member of his inner circle whom he never had reason to doubt. There had been a soldier with a martyr complex who had lost her entire unit. A turian who openly admitted to being a renegade. An inexperienced and untested quarian. A krogan mercenary.

Matriarch Benezia’s daughter.

Yet he had given all of us his trust – not uncritical, not absolute, but _real trust_ – from the very beginning. He had given all of us opportunities to demonstrate that we deserved his trust. He had inspired us to trust him, to follow him, to give of our best for him.

My face fell forward into my hands, and my eyes burned.

_Goddess, help me. I’ve been at this too long. I’m starting to forget what I set out to do._

I didn’t quite lose control. A few minutes later I was able to look up again, my eyes dry, and consider the armor in its case once more.

_You wouldn’t have been stupid about it, but you would have trusted your people as far as possible. You never permitted fear or doubt to paralyze you. You always found a way to push forward with the team you had._

Most likely Yevgeni, Quintus, and Arin were all loyal. I trusted Aspasia, and she knew her lover to the bottom of his soul. I had no such absolute token for Quintus or Arin, but I thought I knew each of them well enough. I had never had a moment’s reason to believe either of them was anything but completely honest. Besides, neither of them were asari, and it seemed unlikely that they would have any _reason_ to betray me to an asari enemy.

My Shepard-memories gave me, of all things, a poker metaphor. It felt as if I had an ace and a king in the hole, while another ace and two kings showed on the table. My enemy _might_ have two aces in the hole, and she _had_ raised the stakes once already. But it was still worth pushing hard with the hand I had. Time to raise the stakes once more, and see if she had the courage to stay in the game.

* * *

**_22 January 2185, Dantius Industries Facility, Pyrenian Desert, Illium_ **

Night in the high desert.

Visitors to Illium tend to forget that the planet is actually not that hospitable. They spend all their time in Nos Astra or one of the lesser cities, located in polar coastal regions, where the climate is no more than warm and a moist breeze comes in from the sea. Venture away from the planet’s poles, journey into the interiors of the continents, and one will find something entirely different. Vast plains and table-lands stretch for thousands of kilometers, stony and barren, where the day’s shimmering heat will kill an exposed asari in hours and water is vanishingly rare. The colors of the landscape are gray and an occasional dull red, the hues of rock and dust that have never felt the touch of life.

Yet asari _have_ come to the desert, looking for the mineral wealth so abundant on Illium. Fifteen thousand kilometers from Nos Astra, in a nameless mountain valley deep in the interior of the Pyrenian continent, Dantius Industries maintained one of its most important sites. An enormous deposit of metals lay close to the surface: platinum, palladium, iridium, rhodium, all of immense value in high-technology manufacturing. Nassana Dantius had taken the site from its original claimants, at least one of whom had met the kind of unexpected death that seemed common among her adversaries. By the time I visited the place, the mine was worth well over a hundred million credits a year to her.

 _Themis_ landed a few kilometers away, keeping low to the horizon, with all stealth systems engaged on the final approach. I checked the passive sensors carefully before we left the ship, looking for any sign that we had been detected. Then we stepped out onto the blasted land.

I had chosen a part of four: Yevgeni, Quintus, Arin, and me, all of us in sealed armor to protect us from the local climate. Even in the middle of the night the temperature hovered well over thirty degrees, the air bitterly dry and full of fine dust. Better to be breathing cooled and filtered air, if we were going to be exerting ourselves.

“Let’s move out,” I ordered once all of us were ready. Quintus took point, Yevgeni took the rear-guard position, and we set out across the stony desert.

Quiet and darkness. Our footprints made rough scraping sounds on the stone and sand. The stars overhead twinkled and shimmered madly, as heat continued to radiate through the atmosphere. Our flashlights skated across the broken ground as we watched our paths. We spoke very little, only enough for Quintus to warn us of obstacles and dangers in the way. After an hour or so, we approached the last low rise that concealed the mining site from us.

“Hold up,” said Quintus as he examined the terrain ahead. “Blasting caps buried under the surface.”

“Arin, can you shut them down?” I asked.

“Not from here. Not quickly,” said the quarian.

“It’s okay,” said Quintus, fiddling with his omni-tool for a moment. Suddenly my HUD came to life, an array of circles of light appearing to spread out across the ground before us. “Just keep your distance from each mine and you should be safe.”

I nodded. “All right. Single file through the mine-field. Quintus, take the lead.”

“Roger that.”

Five very careful minutes took us through the mines. We formed up once more in the lee of a great rock spire, the facility’s outer fence visible just ahead. Arin opened his omni-tool and ran a series of careful scans. “Hmm. I can see the communications tower, about two hundred meters from here. If we can get that far, I can cut into the outbound channel and keep any warning from reaching Nos Astra. The defenses seem pretty tight, though. Kinetic shields. Security cameras. Another field of blasting caps just inside. And I think I detect security mechs, patrolling the area.”

“Nassana is pretty paranoid about anyone playing with her toys, isn’t she?” observed Quintus.

Yevgeni chuckled. “Considering how she acquired them, I’d say she has the right. So how do we get through all that without raising the alarm?”

“I can hack the security cameras, at least long enough for us to get inside,” said Arin. “That leaves the shields, the blasting caps, and the mechs.”

“How high do the shields go?” asked Quintus.

“Five meters,” said Arin. “Too high for any of us to jump, even with a biotic assist.”

“Sure,” said the turian. “But if I can climb this spire, I might be able to get line-of-sight on one of the shield generators. A few shots would take it out.”

“That might also set off the alarms,” said Arin.

“Not necessarily. I’d bet this climate is hell on the equipment. The shields must fail once in a while. If they don’t see anything on the security cameras, they’ll just send a crew out to do repairs.”

I stared at Quintus, the visor of my helmet concealing the expression on my face.

_That sounds plausible. Is it the truth?_

“Yevgeni, what do you think?”

The human nodded at once. “It’s a good bet.”

“All right,” I said decisively. “Arin, Quintus, _both_ of you scan the blasting caps inside the shield line. I want the best possible map to my HUD.”

They obeyed, and another array of light-circles appeared to spread out across the open ground inside the facility.

Yevgeni turned to stare at me. “Doctor, what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that it’s about two hundred meters from here to that comm tower, and even in this light armor I could probably cover that distance in about thirty seconds.”

“Through a _mine field?_ ”

“So it’s broken-field running. I can see the mines, after all.”

_Assuming that I trust Arin and Quintus together to have mapped them properly._

Yevgeni hesitated, and I knew he thought the same thing.

“No argument, Yevgeni. Quintus has to get up on the spire. Arin has to keep the security cameras quiet, and he has to be ready to hack the comm tower as soon as I can get a remote shunt in place. You are wearing heavy armor. Besides, you didn’t win second place in the hundred-meter dash in the University of Serrice’s yearly _agon_.”

“Doctor, that was _sixty years ago_.”

“Hush. Arin, hack. Quintus, climb. Yevgeni, get ready to shoot mechs if they show up.”

Arin finished first, signaling that he had blinded the mining facility in our direction. I stepped out from our place of concealment, moved cautiously over to stand next to the kinetic barriers, and scanned the open ground I would have to cross. The golden-white circles of light on my HUD marked the blasting caps. At least I hoped they did.

I leaned forward, putting my weight on my right foot.

A single shot rang out. Quintus wasn’t as expert with a sniper rifle as Garrus had been, but he took plenty of time to line up the shot. Sparks flew as a shield generator went down. The kinetic barriers in front of me vanished.

I took off in a dead sprint, dust flying up in the air behind me.

I had selected a path that wouldn’t require much turning. Fortunately the mines were arranged in a neat, regular tessellation across the field. I could dodge slightly to the left, to the right, to the left again and stay well clear of their marked positions.

Movement ahead of me, glimpsed out of the corner of my eye as I watched the circles of light on the ground . . .

“ _Excuse me_ ,” came a polite mechanical voice.

Yevgeni and Quintus both opened fire, hammering the LOKI mech that had just come around the corner of the comm tower.

It distracted me for just a moment. Just long enough to feel one foot slide on the dusty ground, my center of gravity suddenly completely out of control.

I didn’t have time to think about it. A moment’s horrible vision flashed through my mind: me sliding helplessly into a mine. I shouted and clenched my right fist, called up my biotics, and then _slammed_ my fist into the ground as I fell. The reaction pushed me into the air, flailing my arms and legs to keep from tumbling out of control. Then I felt a tearing pain in my skull and a hollow sensation in the pit of my stomach, as I flipped my biotic aura into reducing my effective mass.

I flew. Not far, and not at _all_ gracefully, but far enough to send me tumbling through the air and over the last of the blasting caps. I saw at least one circle of light pass directly beneath me as I went. I came down badly and felt my left wrist _snap_ on impact, but I suppressed the shock and rolled to my feet with my Shuriken out.

I saw no mechs for the moment. My friends had dealt with a whole fireteam of three while I hung helpless in the air. I turned and stumbled for the comm tower, cradling my wrist against my belly and trying not to whine from the pain.

Once there, I gritted my teeth and used my left hand to tap at my omni-tool, setting up a remote shunt on the comm tower. Only after the task was complete and I saw that Arin had blocked any outbound alarm did I punch for some medi-gel and an anesthetic.

The rest of our progress into the mining facility seemed almost anticlimactic. We found no live crew on the site, only LOKI mechs, and those presented an easy problem to solve. They came at us with no sense of tactics, and we could smash them two or three at a time as we moved around the installation.

Time presented our only concern. Arin had _tried_ to jam the communications of the first few mechs to spot us, but he couldn’t be sure he had succeeded. We could therefore expect _some_ response to be coming from Nos Astra. Fortunately we were almost on the other side of the planet from there. Unless Nassana had a spaceship with suborbital capability on hand, and she could put it in the air almost immediately, we could expect two or three hours of grace.

As it happened, we only needed one.

The control center had heavy defenses – a pair of turrets and a large squad of LOKI mechs – but Nassana’s people had been foolish enough to leave plenty of cover behind crates and heavy equipment. Quintus and Arin focused their fire on one turret, then the other, while Yevgeni and I smashed the mechs with our biotics. Quintus had his shields flare out once, but he ducked back under cover before anything penetrated his armor. The rest of us went entirely unscathed.

Once inside, it took Arin less than ten minutes to work his way through the firewalls and into the Dantius Industries secure network. He immediately began an aggressive data-mine. Meanwhile, Yevgeni and Quintus went over the facility’s engineering diagrams.

“Just as I thought,” said Yevgeni at last. “Look here, Doctor.”

I leaned over the console. “What do you have?”

“I have a Vestis Combine class-five mass effect core providing power to the whole installation.”

“Hmm. Quite powerful.”

“Oh yes. They also advertise it as being very safe, but that’s only if you don’t look at the fine print in their liability contract. Typical Illium sales strategy. Turns out there’s a persistent flaw in the cooling system. A few small charges in the right places, and about ten minutes later . . . _foom!_ ”

“ _Foom?_ ”

“It’s a technical term we terrorists use. Means the thing goes sky-high. In this case, about ten kilotons yield.”

I looked through the large windows on all sides of the control center, taking in the entire facility. “Goddess. That would be enough to destroy the whole place. It would take Nassana months to rebuild.”

“The neat thing is, there wouldn’t be much evidence left to say how it happened. It would take a lot of work for anyone to even determine that it was sabotage. Shall Quintus and I go ahead?”

“Wait a moment. Arin?”

“Still working, Doctor.”

“Here, let me help.” I sat down beside Arin, opened my own omni-tool, and the two of us divided the work of mining the Dantius networks. Secure messages, financial records, contracts . . . I could barely absorb it all as it flew by. We would have to take the bulk of the data back to the central office for analysis. I found no sign of any reference to me or to Kalliste Renai.

“Here’s something,” said Arin. “Another set of firewalls, very tight. Not sure what’s behind them.”

I glanced at a schematic of the Dantius networks, and saw what Arin was talking about: a knot of very high-level security, high up in the corporation’s financial domain. “Try to get through them.”

“Doctor, the charges?” asked Yevgeni.

I made a flash decision. “Go set them up. If by some chance we _don’t_ find any evidence that Nassana was involved in Mumbai, we can rethink.”

The human and the turian stood and left the control center, not running but not wasting any time.

Minutes ticked past. I wanted to help Arin, but I could see he had far exceeded my own level of competence. The last thing he needed was for me to distract him. At least I could follow well enough to see he was making an honest effort.

Finally I couldn’t take any more of the tension. I activated my helmet radio. “Yevgeni, progress report.”

“Almost done,” said the human.

“Any difficulty?” I asked, knowing that he would understand the hidden question.

“None at all,” he replied at once.

 _So Quintus hasn’t taken any opportunity to sabotage the mission_. _Arin is here doing his honest best. I don’t think Nassana has a pair of aces in the hole after all._

“Hah!” crowed Arin, tapping furiously at his omni-tool.

“What is it?”

“I got in . . . and I found what was hidden behind those firewalls.”

I leaned close, eagerly scanning the files as they flew by on Arin’s omni-tool display. Names, dates, places, money transfers . . . it took a moment for me to put it all together. “It’s a record of Nassana’s dealings with Eclipse.”

“Yes. It goes back years, before she came back to Nos Astra even.” The quarian shook his head. “She has a direct partnership with Jona Sederis. Terapso, the pirate attacks, a dozen raids and assassinations, it’s all here.”

“What about Mumbai?”

Arin punched in a search term, and almost immediately nodded. “Here it is. About three months ago, Nassana contacted Colonel Sederis and . . . _keelah_. She told the Colonel that you are Kalliste Renai. She suggested that Eclipse try to kill you while you were on Earth.”

I turned to watch Arin closely, my hand not far from my weapon. “Arin, does the message say how Nassana _knew_ that I am Renai?”

The quarian didn’t react to the question, didn’t even glance at me. He simply worked with his omni-tool for a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity.

“Yes,” he said at last, his voice suddenly quiet with surprise. “She paid the Shadow Broker for the information.”

For a moment I was shocked speechless in turn.

_The Shadow Broker?_

Suddenly the game I played seemed _much_ larger, with more people at the table than I had expected.

I forced myself to move. “Arin, grab as much of that as you can. Don’t even try to be quiet about it. If it sets off alarms all over Nassana’s networks, I’m fine with that.”

“Right away, Doctor.”

“Yevgeni, I’m calling _Themis_ in. Plant those charges and get back here. I want us out of here in ten minutes.”

“Understood,” said the human over the radio link.

I think some of my urgency communicated itself to the others. Only eight minutes later _Themis_ soared into the sky, striking out for deep space so that we could approach Nos Astra from another direction entirely. I watched the mining site with ship’s sensors. If Nassana sent any reinforcements, they didn’t reach the place in time. Five minutes after our departure, a small pearl of nuclear fire bloomed on the night side of Illium.

As soon as I saw it, I opened a comm panel one-handed and sent a text message into the extranet. I used a hacker’s technique to hide the originator’s identity, but I also used a low-level encryption scheme that I was sure would be easily broken.

_FROM: (DIGITAL SIGNATURE REDACTED)  
TO: Moira Dantius_

_Mission accomplished. Expect payment on time and in full._

Then I sat back and watched Yevgeni pilot the ship. I knew Moira Dantius would be puzzled by the message . . . but if I was reading Nassana right, she would have ways to monitor her sister’s communications. I could only imagine her reaction to _that_ message, given its timing.

_All right, Nassana, what will it be? Fold, call, or raise?_


	27. The Nos Astra Way

**_Late January to Early February 2185, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

Our mission to the Pyrenian interior stayed strictly off the books. We filed no operation report at the firm’s central office. All the data we recovered from the Dantius Industries networks went onto a set of OSDs, which I stored in the secure safe in my apartment. Then Arin and I painstakingly sanitized the mission team’s omni-tools and the _Themis_ onboard VI, removing any trace of evidence that we had anything to do with the sabotage, each of us checking the other’s work to ensure it was done properly. Naturally I ordered the others to say nothing about the mission to _anyone_.

Then I sat back to watch Nassana Dantius from a safe distance. She behaved in a reassuringly predictable manner.

Our raid had taken place in the middle of the afternoon, Nos Astra time. By early evening, someone at Dantius Industries noticed that communications from the mining facility were down, and sent a team to investigate. If Nassana made any attempt to keep the loss secret, she failed. By the next morning half of Illium knew that a disaster had taken place, and by noon the story reached the top of the news cycle.

To my amusement, Nyxeris released a report on the event into the day’s Galactic Overview. My analysts noticed the flaw in Vestis Combine eezo reactor technology, and tentatively ascribed the disaster to a reactor failure, all without any prompting from me. I felt tempted to suppress the report, not wanting to give Nassana any reason to associate us with the disaster. Yet by the end of that day T’Soni Analytics was not the only source running with the same hypothesis. I eventually decided it would look peculiar if I insisted on _withholding_ our report, and did nothing.

By then Nassana was frantic to minimize the damage. Dantius Industries received a great deal of criticism for using flawed technology, and it lost over ten percent of its stock value by the time the Nos Astra Exchange closed. At that they were lucky. The market made a flat-out run on shares of Vestis Combine stock, in the midst of a flurry of canceled contracts and threatened lawsuits. That company lost over _thirty_ percent of its value in a single day.

Then someone on Nassana’s staff, assigned to spy on Moira Dantius, noticed the message I had sent anonymously to her.

Nassana went absolutely _berserk_.

Of our new implants within the Dantius Industries networks, our informants in the Illium industrial community, none were in a position to see what happened when Nassana called her sister to confront her. The results were plain enough. Three days after the destruction of the mining facility, Moira Dantius held a press conference on Cyone. She announced that Nassana had accused her of involvement in sabotage, angrily denounced Nassana’s “incompetence,” and threatened to lead a shareholder revolt. She then – rather prudently, I thought – ran for cover. She went into hiding with a troop of hired bodyguards, issuing further communications from an undisclosed location.

Within a week I felt confident that our raid had met all its objectives. Nassana Dantius had been punished for her previous schemes, even if she didn’t know that. She was going to be far too distracted to try any further intrigues, at least for a time. Finally, she seemed to know nothing of my involvement in the destruction. Still, I continued to monitor the situation closely, waiting for one more piece of evidence to appear.

My patience eventually paid off. Arin’s implants in Nassana’s top-security network revealed that she made another request to the Shadow Broker, asking for information as to who had sabotaged the Pyrenian facility. They also revealed that the Shadow Broker _refused the commission_.

The Broker had a reputation as an honest actor. If he had the information one needed, he would sell it for a fair price. If he did not have the information but believed he could get it, he would write up a contract for payment on delivery, and factor in a reasonable amount for expenses. If he did not believe he could discover what a customer wanted to know, he would _decline_ the commission, as he did with Nassana.

Clearly the Broker knew nothing of our involvement in the incident, was inclined to believe the industrial-accident hypothesis, and did not choose to waste any of his or Nassana’s time.

It constituted the final proof I needed. I might have a mole in my organization, feeding the Shadow Broker information, yet my inner circle was sound. I could rely on Aspasia, Yevgeni, Arin, and Quintus . . . and if I could trust _them_ , I knew I would eventually hunt down the mole with their help.

* * *

Nassana Dantius might have been neutralized for the time being, but Eclipse presented another problem. At first we couldn’t be certain whether Jona Sederis was on Illium, but Eclipse certainly pursued a full-scale vendetta against me on her behalf.

The second attempt on my life was another rocket, launched to take out my car as I drove in to the office one morning. Fortunately we had anticipated such an attack, and I had long since stopped taking a public cab to work. My bodyguard on duty at the time was Karel Atharias, one of Quintus’s turians and a certified combat pilot. There was certainly nothing wrong with his reaction time. Before I became aware of the attack, he mashed the chaff-release key and jinked violently between two tall buildings, throwing off target acquisition. The rocket slammed into the side of an apartment block, injuring three residents, but I reached the office safely.

As soon as I reached my desk, T’Soni Analytics went to war.

Shepard and I watched a historical drama together once. One line has stuck with me ever since, an experienced police officer explaining conditions on the ground to a newcomer.

_You wanna get Capone? Here’s how you get him. He pulls a knife, you pull a gun. He sends one of yours to the hospital, you send one of his to the morgue! That’s the Chicago way, and that’s how you get Capone!_

It was also the Nos Astra way. Once the rule of law has failed, there are only two roles one can take: predator or prey. Being a predator did not come naturally to me, but I found the alternative unacceptable.

First I spent two hours gathering all the evidence we had for Eclipse’s involvement in activities illegal even on Illium, starting with the attack on Terapso and ending with the assassination attempt in Mumbai. I included only information from the main Analytics database, presumably also available to the Shadow Broker’s mole. I wanted to give the impression that we remained unaware of the mole, or of the compromise of the Kalliste Renai identity. I still found plenty to work with. Eclipse had been very busy over the past two years, and not at all discreet.

Then I led a team out into the streets of Nos Astra, to attack an isolated Eclipse warehouse.

At that time Eclipse controlled whole sections of Nos Astra, especially in the industrial districts and around the spaceport. Illium was the center of their smuggling, gun-running, and narcotics businesses. The law-enforcement corporations had taken bribes, so police squads rarely interfered with Eclipse operations. I suffered from no such limitation.

* * *

Eight of us went on the raid: me, Arin and Keetah, Quintus, Vara T’Rathis, and three more of our turians. Arin and Keetah hacked Eclipse’s security from a safe distance, permitting a close approach without raising the alarm. We announced our arrival with a salvo of high-explosive rockets, blowing in one wall of the building. Then Quintus and his men charged. Vara and I provided protective barriers, and warped down the barriers of the Eclipse biotics. The enemy fought hard, but they had been taken by surprise, and the outcome was a foregone conclusion. We took the place in less than five minutes, killing two Eclipse in the fighting, taking no more than minor wounds ourselves.

We found, documented, and destroyed several million credits in weapons, tainted eezo, and red sand. We also captured three Eclipse soldiers still alive. Two of these were ordinary troopers, a male human and a salarian. The third was an asari, in the distinctive uniform of the Eclipse sisterhood. Once all was under control, I walked over to where Quintus’s men were guarding the prisoners. I made a small gesture, and two turians hustled the asari out to stand before me.

“What’s the prisoner’s name?” I asked.

“Her ID claims she’s Linnea Karis,” said Quintus. “She’s been with Eclipse for about five years.”

“Linnea Karis,” I mused. “You are one of the Colonel’s _initiates_ , aren’t you?”

The asari’s chin came up proudly. “I am.”

“Sworn to kill for Jona Sederis. Sworn to live for her. Sworn to die for her.”

“That’s right, _doulē_.”

I could hear a sharp intake of breath. Vara, reacting to the insult.

“That’s fortunate,” I told her, giving her a sharp-edged smile. “Now you have an opportunity to live up to your oath.”

Without breaking her gaze, I held out a hand. Quintus gave me his Carnifex heavy pistol. I shot her twice between the eyes at point-blank range.

The body slumped for a moment before the turians dropped it on the floor. Dead silence reigned in the warehouse, broken only by the sound of flames a few meters away.

I turned to the other prisoners. Something in my eyes made the human flinch.

“You two will be set free in a moment,” I told them. “I want you to go back to Colonel Sederis. Tell her that if Eclipse continues to attack me or mine, this will happen again. And again. Until Eclipse is driven off Illium in disgrace.”

“Who the hell are you?” demanded the human.

“My name is Liara T’Soni,” I told him, “and I’ve faced far worse than a few gangsters. Tell her.”

I tossed my head slightly. Quintus’s men released the prisoners, who turned and ran.

“Time to go,” I ordered. We quickly packed up and ran for the extraction point in turn.

Once safely in our vehicle, I opened my omni-tool and sent a command back to the central office. Within moments, a pre-written press release arrived at every major media outlet on Illium. _For immediate release:_ accusations of multiple criminal acts on the part of Eclipse, up to and including murder and attempted murder, with plenty of documentation to back the allegations. I called for Illium’s real powers, the Twelve, to take action. I promised that if the authorities did not act, T’Soni Analytics would.

Once I finished, I glanced at the turian sitting across from me in the back of our van. “Well, Quintus?”

“Nice little fight,” was all he said.

“No comments, qualms, objections? Even about Karis?”

He shook his head. “She was an Eclipse initiate. Pack of murder cultists. She probably gunned down any number of civilians in her time. Among turians she would have been outlawed the moment she put on that uniform.”

“All right.” I held his gaze for a long moment. “I’m relying on you, Quintus. Not only to provide security, but also to support my conscience.”

He nodded soberly. “I do have to ask . . .”

“What is it, Quintus?”

“It didn’t _bother_ you, shooting Karis in cold blood like that?”

I frowned, searching my emotions. Finally I had to shake my head. “No. No, it didn’t.”

The big turian’s mandibles went tight against the sides of his jaw, an expression of concern, but he didn’t say anything.

Suddenly I _did_ feel disturbed, not so much at Karis’s execution as at my lack of reaction to it.

_Goddess, the quiet little archaeologist I was two years ago would **never** have done that._

_On the other hand, that quiet little archaeologist was profoundly ignorant, and nothing she did really mattered. She didn’t realize there was a war on. She risked becoming a victim the moment someone stronger and more vicious happened by. She nearly did become a victim. She had to be rescued, or she would have died there on Therum. Or perhaps something far worse would have happened to her._

I tilted my head back, still holding Quintus’s gaze.

 _Never again_.

* * *

Matriarch Pytho stared at me through the comm screen. Her expression gave nothing away, her dark eyes simply examining me closely.

“I see that Eclipse has caused a great deal of trouble,” she said at last.

 _Nicely phrased_ , I remarked to myself. “You will understand, I have no intention of permitting them to attack my interests – or _me_ – unopposed.”

“There is no reason that you should. What I want to know is why you have not come to me for assistance.”

I cocked my head in curiosity. “Matriarch, the last time we spoke I was not left with the impression that you wished me well.”

“Nonsense. You may _remind_ me of my daughter’s treason, but you did not _cause_ it. It would be irrational for me to blame you. In any case, you will notice that the IDF has been a regular consumer of several of your firm’s product lines.”

“That’s true.” I took a deep breath. “I seem to have misjudged you. I apologize.”

“No need. The question remains. Do you wish any assistance from me?”

I shook my head. “No, Matriarch. Not in the matter of Eclipse. I do appreciate your generosity, but I also value my independence . . . and that implies I must fight my own battles.”

“That is wise.” Her gaze on me sharpened. “I notice a qualifier. Is there some _other_ matter in which I may assist you?”

“Perhaps.” I leaned back in my chair and thought hard for a few moments before reaching a decision. “Matriarch, this evening I am going to send you some information which I ask that you treat as eyes-only.”

“Why wait?” she asked, curious.

“Because I have only one copy of the information, and it is not on the T’Soni Analytics network,” I told her. “I will have to recover it from hard storage before I can send it to you.”

“Most mysterious. Can you provide me with an executive summary?”

“I have identified the individual with whom Nikoleia was conspiring.”

 _That_ got a reaction from her. Her eyes seemed to gleam as her lips pulled back from her teeth in a snarl. “ _Indeed_. I would pay you a great deal for that information, if it can be verified.”

“It can, but I will not charge you for it. I suspect that with this information in hand, you will be able to verify it entirely through your own resources. I respectfully request that you do so, and that you then take whatever action seems appropriate to you, so long as you leave my name out of it.”

“Be careful, child. Do you think to use _me_ as a proxy in your conflicts?”

I smiled warmly at her. “I would not dream of doing so, Matriarch. Consider it . . . a convergence of mutual interests.”

“ _Hmm_. I make no promises until I see the information, but I _will_ respect your desire for discretion.”

“That’s all I ask. Thank you.”

* * *

Eclipse engineers attempted to hack into the T’Soni Analytics central network.

Arin’s team discovered the attempt and stopped it within minutes. Before we closed their channel into our network, we used it to release a time-delayed virus into their systems.

Eclipse infiltrated an agent onto the staff at one of my favorite restaurants. She introduced a fast-acting neurotoxin into my evening meal.

After the scanners in my omni-tool detected the poison, I summoned the proprietor, showed her the readings, and informed her that I would not be returning to her establishment until she improved her security. Then Quintus and I led a squad to ambush an Eclipse lieutenant and her fireteam on a back street in an industrial district. We killed the lieutenant – another sisterhood initiate – and let the others escape with another warning.

Eclipse abducted, tortured, and killed a maintenance tech at my apartment building, using her ID and personal codes to smuggle in an explosive device.

The building’s upgraded security staff noticed a discrepancy, had the impostor arrested, and disarmed the device before it could harm anyone. Then Quintus and I led a team to infiltrate an Eclipse barracks, planting our own explosives in the sewer tunnels beneath the building. Six Eclipse soldiers died in the blast.

An Eclipse sniper took three shots at Aspasia and Yevgeni as they left a theater in downtown Nos Astra. Yevgeni was badly wounded, almost killed, as he threw himself across Aspasia and dragged her into cover.

Up to that point, I had been engaging in _proportionate_ response.

The next evening, Quintus and I called out almost our entire armed force: a heavy platoon, most of them turian veterans, supported by a squad of the best asari and human biotics from Yevgeni’s department. While we mustered, I looked around at all of my people. They were angry. Most of my people liked and respected Yevgeni . . . but they _adored_ Aspasia.

I was angry too.

Eclipse had a command post in the Perikylos district. We attacked it. We killed a dozen Eclipse on the way in, including all of the _initiates_. Apparently Colonel Sederis’s sisterhood had gotten the message that they couldn’t expect any mercy at our hands. Anyone else who surrendered, we let go. Then we blew the post to flinders.

That operation saw our first serious casualties. Three of Quintus’s turians took seriously wounds and had to spend time in the hospital. James Mboya, Yevgeni’s second, died. His shields went down under fire, just in time for an Eclipse engineer to hit him with an incineration charge. A very bad death.

The mood was grim when we returned to our own base. Very grim, but also very determined.

Our private little war contined to escalate . . . but one by one, starting with Matriarch Pytho, I had begun to receive calls from the Twelve. The powers of Illium had begun to take notice at last.

* * *

Complete silence fell as I walked into _Eternity_ , Quintus at my back.

I had taken to wearing a new outfit: long jacket over vest, trousers, and boots, all in white with blue accents. It looked casual and even a little stylish, but it had cost me a great deal of money, and it worked quite well as light battle dress. The vest and trousers were reinforced with ballistic armor. The jacket concealed the machinery and power source for an effective kinetic barrier. A custom-designed holster for my Shuriken fit perfectly on my left hip. If anyone attacked me by surprise, I wanted to be ready.

Quintus moved off to one side, to a spot where he could watch the entire room. I walked up to the bar and sat down. “Aethyta,” I greeted the bartender.

“Doctor,” said the Matriarch, much more soberly than usual. “The usual?”

I accepted my Scotch whiskey and took a cautious sip.

It didn’t take long before the others arrived. First Matriarch Pytho came alone, dressed in her full formal regalia, a long heavy robe in dark colors and an elaborate headdress. Then Jona Sederis arrived in her Eclipse uniform, a single initiate at her side.

Sederis stared at me as she approached the bar. “I see it now,” she said after a moment. “You could change your coloring, even the shape of your face a little. Still I can see Kalliste Renai.”

“She and I are very close,” I told her.

“Hmm. Pity I didn’t kill _either of you_ when I had the chance.”

I nodded in agreement. “It _would_ have saved Eclipse a great deal of trouble.”

“What can I get you all?” inquired Aethyta.

Pytho accepted a small glass of brandy. Sederis sneered magnificently at the idea of _drinking_ with any of us. The three of us moved to a table and seated ourselves.

“I have been deputed to speak on behalf of the Twelve,” said Pytho. “This war between you must end.”

“Not before _she_ is dead,” said Sederis, giving me a hot stare.

“You’ve been trying that for some time now,” I pointed out. “It hasn’t worked out well for you.”

“ _Enough_ ,” said Pytho coldly. “Too many bystanders have been hurt. Too much of Illium’s business has been interfered with. This conflict does not advance Eclipse’s profit. Neither does it prepare anyone for the advent of the Reapers.”

I leaned back in my chair, taking another sip of my whiskey. I could feel Shepard’s memories stirring in the back of my mind, prompting me toward diplomacy.

“I would be happy to stand down,” I said at last. “When Eclipse and I came into conflict, it was only business, theirs and mine. We may come into conflict again, or we may not. It was never _personal_ for me, at least not until Eclipse made it so.”

“It was personal for _me_ ,” said Sederis softly.

“That is your own failure of discipline to deal with,” said Pytho. “Dr. T’Soni, if Colonel Sederis agrees to cease all attacks on you and your firm, will you cease all attacks on Eclipse?”

“Of course.”

“Colonel Sederis?”

The colonel set her jaw stubbornly, but there was a flicker of doubt in her mad eyes.

Pytho turned to stare at the mercenary leader, and there was no flexibility at all in her gaze. “Colonel, I hope you do not think yourself able to oppose _my_ forces. If you persist in posing a threat to the security of Illium, then the Defense Force will be required to take a hand.”

Sederis opened her mouth, her expression eloquent of defiance . . .

Quick as a striking serpent, Pytho’s hand lashed out. Just a hint of blue-white light haloed her hand as it closed on the mercenary’s wrist. Her voice became very soft, under absolute control. “Do not mistake this for _negotiation_ , Colonel. I have not forgotten your role in my daughter’s fall. Take very great care what next you say, or else you will not leave this room alive.”

The Eclipse initiate drew her sidearm to cover us. Quintus unlimbered his rifle to cover _her_. Behind the bar, Aethyta suddenly stood wrapped in her own corona of blue-white power, watching everyone equally.

I sat quietly, moving only to take another sip of my whiskey, as if none of this concerned me.

At last, Sederis seemed to reconsider. “Very well,” she choked out. “I agree.”

“You will cease attacks against Dr. T’Soni, her allies, and her employees?”

“Yes. At least until she interferes in Eclipse business again.”

Pytho released Sederis and sat back. “Dr. T’Soni?”

I nodded. “I agree as well. I have more important things to do then fight a war on the Illium streets.”

“A truce, then,” said Pytho with satisfaction.

Colonel Sederis rose from the table with a disgusted growl, stalking out of the bar without looking back. Her initiate fell in behind.

I heard a _thunk_ and looked down to see another tumbler of whiskey in front of me, the liquor still sloshing slightly with the force of its arrival. Aethyta slid into the chair that Sederis had vacated, watching me with something that looked almost like _pride_.

“Kid, you’ve got a quad,” she told me. “I was just about certain that Eclipse lunatic would start a fight.”

I smiled. “With both Matriarch Pytho and you here to keep the peace? Jona Sederis may be more than half insane, but she can recognize a credible threat when she sees one.”

“There is that,” Aethyta said complacently.

Pytho finished her brandy and set her glass down on the table. “What will you do now, Doctor?”

“See to my people’s wounds, mourn our dead, rebuild . . . and then get back to work.” I rolled another swallow of whiskey back across my tongue, relaxing and enjoying the rich taste. Aethyta had been bringing in _very good_ Scotch ever since I began visiting Eternity. “Hopefully Eclipse is the worst threat we’ll see for a while.”


	28. Love and Loyalty

**_25 February 2185, T’Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

Vara T’Rathis sat alone at a table in a darkened room, only a single bright light shining on her from above.

I watched her from the shadows, standing behind a pane of one-way glass. I saw a small asari, petite really, but I knew she packed a great deal of strength and whipcord toughness into that tiny frame. Still a maiden, but well into her third century and maturing into her full powers. Her skin tone was lighter than most, her face marked by a great insect-wing pattern of white dapples, her eyes a smoke-rimmed silver in color. She tended to wear a very plain vest and trousers in the office, black commando leathers in the field, elegantly conservative gowns while off duty or under cover. I knew her as only a moderately powerful biotic, but she was skilled and deadly with modern weapons, knives, and open-hand combat. Yevgeni had been training her in espionage tradecraft, and reported that she was a very quick study.

_Perhaps too quick._

Yevgeni stirred beside me. “Are you sure you want to do this, Liara? I would hate to lose Vara at this point. Now that James is gone I was considering promoting her to deputy chief of Collection.”

“I know,” I said quietly. “Yevgeni, we have to be _sure_ of her. If we’re wrong . . . hopefully she will understand, and forgive us.”

He sighed. “I know. Quintus and I will do it.”

“You know I wouldn’t ask this of you.”

“No. But a man should shoot his own dog.”

I shuddered.

_Humans. Some of their metaphors are appalling._

Yevgeni moved away, still a little awkward due to his almost-healed wound. A moment later the door to the interrogation room opened, and he walked out to sit in the second chair across from Vara, the light shining on him now as well. A huge shadow stayed to loom by the door, nothing but a gleam of eyes to reveal Quintus’s interest in the proceedings.

“Yevgeni, what’s going on?” asked Vara, tension in her voice.

The human only sat motionless in his chair and stared at her. After a long three minutes he finally stirred and spoke, weary sorrow in his voice. “I was hoping you could tell me that, Vara.”

“I don’t understand.” The little commando sounded lost and confused, although her face revealed nothing. I sensed her thinking furiously. “Did something happen during that last raid on Eclipse? Did I do something wrong?”

“What do you think about that?”

“Yevgeni . . . I know we lost James. I know you and he were close.” Her gaze dropped to the bare surface of the table between them, stark in the bright light from above. “I liked him too. I’ve been going over it again and again in my head. If there was anything I could have done. I just don’t know.”

Yevgeni shook his head slowly. “This isn’t about James. This is about you.”

“ _What?_ ”

The spy had once joked with me about the stereotypes humans held of his ethnic group. _I’m Russian,_ he had said. _Nobody does gloomy resignation better than us. Except maybe the Jews, and what the hell, my grandmother was a Jew too. It’s in my blood from all directions._

Now he was living up to the stereotype. The sheer weight of sadness in his voice astounded me. Perhaps he wasn’t acting. “Vara, it might be better if you just came clean. Certainly it would be easier for you.”

“Come clean about what?” she demanded. “I have no idea what you are driving at.”

“Bullshit!” said the looming shadow at the door. Quintus moved forward until only the very fringe of the light was shining on his face, transforming it into a horror of shadows, fangs, and cruelly gleaming eyes, floating in the darkness with no apparent support. One talon lashed out to slap a data chip down on the table. “We know you were in on it, Vara. From the beginning. We have all the evidence we need. So you had better start talking, or this is going to get very unpleasant _very quickly_.”

* * *

**_24 February 2185,_ ** **_T’Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

That Eclipse sniper had very nearly killed Yevgeni. He spent five days in the hospital, emerging only after the truce had taken effect, with days of recovery still to go. Aspasia had hardly left his side the whole time. We saw almost nothing of her until Yevgeni himself returned to the office, breaking his physician’s orders to resume light duty the moment he felt able.

I was on the watch floor when they arrived. I saw when one analyst glanced up and stared, then another. Then they all rose, watching as Yevgeni and Aspasia slowly walked out onto the floor, beginning to applaud. By the time they reached me, everyone in the room was on her feet, clapping and cheering wildly.

I shook Yevgeni’s hand, embraced and kissed Aspasia. “Welcome back,” I murmured.

She favored me with a dazzling smile.

I motioned for silence and then gave a short speech. To this day I don’t remember what I said, I wrestled so fiercely with my heart the whole time, but it must have worked. I heard a roar of applause once more as I led my friends back to my office, until we disappeared behind a closed door and Nyxeris called for a return to work.

Yevgeni and Aspasia had found their way to the couch, sitting close together and holding hands. I seated myself across from them.

“Liara, I know you’re not entirely happy about our relationship,” Aspasia began.

I held up a hand. “That was when it started. I’ve had over a year to watch developments since then. It hasn’t affected your work performance. It certainly doesn’t harm either of you when it comes to managing the firm’s business. Quite the opposite, if what we just saw is any indication.”

“That’s mostly her doing,” Yevgeni remarked. “Everyone likes Aspasia. Me they just tolerate.”

I smiled and shook my head, knowing that it wasn’t true.

“Anyway,” Aspasia began, taking a deep breath. “Yevgeni and I talked while he was in the hospital. His getting hurt, it made us both think. We want to start formalizing our relationship.”

I nodded. “What are your plans?”

“I’m moving in with Aspasia,” said Yevgeni soberly. “Then in a few days we’re going to go through with the . . . what did you call it, _milaya?_ ”

“ _Siavi_ -betrothal,” she said. “You might think of it as an engagement.”

I felt a sudden pang. Shepard and I had been _siavi_ -consorts.

“That’s right,” Yevgeni agreed. “She tried to convince me to take it further, but I told her she shouldn’t break with asari custom for me. There is plenty of time for us to think about becoming bondmates.”

“Actually, I think I agree with Aspasia,” I said, almost before I could think it through.

Yevgeni stared at me, startled. “Why is that?”

I shook my head. “I’m not sure. Maybe it’s a little of Shepard’s personality rising to the surface. Even in our grand passions we asari tend to take things slowly, one step at a time. It suits a long-lived people in a profoundly stable civilization. But we don’t live in safe, quiet times, Yevgeni. Maybe you should be human about this. You don’t know how long you might have.”

“Exactly my reasoning,” said Aspasia quietly.

He watched his lover, holding her jade-green gaze for a long moment. Then he nodded. “All right. Let us go through with it, then. It would be my honor to be your bondmate, Aspasia.”

“It would be my honor to be your _wife_ , Yevgeni.”

“Bless you both,” I said.

Yevgeni took a deep breath, and turned back to me, though he still held Aspasia’s hand like a lifeline for a drowning man. “Now that this is decided . . . there is something else we need to talk about. I had a lot of time in the hospital to think. The traitor that we suspect is in our midst. You realize that we have eliminated almost all of the obvious possibilities?”

I nodded slowly. “That’s right. All but one.”

* * *

**_25 February 2185,_ ** **_T’Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

After a few minutes of surprise and confusion, Vara’s training reasserted itself. She recognized the situation she was in: an interrogation to get to the truth of something we believed she had done, with Yevgeni in the sympathetic role while Quintus took on the antagonistic role. With that perspective in place, she quickly recovered her composure and shored up her psychological resistance to the ordeal.

Suddenly Yevgeni and Quintus found themselves making no progress at all. Vara sat in silence for long minutes at a time, staring back at her interrogators, or simply ignoring them while she sank into a meditative state. Yevgeni responded by badgering her with endless questions, cajoling, pleading, demanding a response. From time to time Quintus would explode with apparent rage, leaping into her personal space, banging and shouting and ranting to make a bid for her attention. They were having an effect, I could see it from my hidden vantage point, but again and again Vara recaptured her self-discipline, avoiding the revelation of anything significant.

Finally, after well over an hour, Yevgeni leaned back in his chair and simply stared at Vara with a weary expression, while Quintus lurked in the shadows behind her. For almost ten minutes they held those positions, none of them moving, all of them waiting for something to change.

Then Vara spoke.

“You know, it would probably help if you would tell me _what the fuck I’ve been accused of doing_.”

Yevgeni and Quintus did not move or react, but I knew they had a small victory. Vara was not as self-possessed as she pretended to be. She had let confusion, pain, fear, and a great deal of frustration out into that one sentence.

Slowly, Yevgeni leaned forward. “It’s very simple, Vara. You betrayed us. You’re the reason Eclipse tried to kill Dr. T’Soni all those times. You’re the reason we had to go to war with them. You’re the reason that sniper nearly took me out.”

Vara’s face turned a very pale teal color. “Yevgeni . . . that’s _nonsense_. I would _never_ betray the team.”

“I’m afraid the evidence says otherwise,” said Yevgeni.

Quintus tensed, preparing to leap forward and rattle Vara’s composure again.

Then the little asari suddenly nodded, relaxing from her state of watchful wariness, the tension flowing out of her body. “All right, I think I understand what this is about.”

 _No, Quintus!_ I nearly vibrated with the urge to shout a warning to the turian.

Fortunately he understood the situation just as quickly. He stood absolutely still, not wanting to make the slightest sound to remind Vara of his presence.

Yevgeni cocked his head to one side. “What are you thinking, Vara?”

“You’ve learned about Tasia.”

I frowned.

_What?_

“Yes, we know about Tasia,” said Yevgeni smoothly. “Why don’t you run through it, just to confirm what we have?”

Vara shrugged. “Tasia Manei. We grew up together, back on Thessia. We both served in the Armali militia for over a century. We were best friends, even lovers for a few years . . . but then she left to join Eclipse, back when Jona Sederis founded the organization.”

I tapped at my omni-tool. “Nyxeris, _priority_.”

 _“Go ahead, Doctor,”_ answered Nyxeris.

“I need everything you have on someone named Tasia Manei, originating in or near Armali on Thessia, about two hundred years old, probably a current member of Eclipse. To my omni-tool, _immediately_.”

_“Right away.”_

Nyxeris was as efficient as usual. Less than half a minute passed before a sheaf of documents downloaded to my omni-tool. I began skimming through them.

“So you’re not in contact with Tasia anymore?” Yevgeni asked.

Vara shook her head. “No. We broke off our liaison a few years before she joined Eclipse. I don’t think I’ve spoken to her in . . . it must be almost thirty years now?”

I keyed for a connection to his earpiece. “Yevgeni, it’s probably a distraction. Tasia Manei is a real person, a member of Eclipse, but she’s not part of Jona Sederis’s inner circle. She’s never even been posted to Illium . . . and even if she had been, she’s not relevant. The leak wasn’t to Eclipse in the first place.”

Yevgeni rubbed his thumb against two fingers, a gesture acknowledging what I had said. “Why didn’t you mention this before?” he asked Vara. “Say, when you applied for your position here? Or when you knew we would be at war with Eclipse?”

“I just didn’t think about it,” Vara said defensively. “The application papers only asked about my own close associations. They didn’t ask about the allegiances of friends or lovers from decades ago. It didn’t even occur to me that Tasia might be an issue until today.”

Yevgeni shook his head. “You know, Vara, I’m really not sure what to make of this.”

Vara frowned.

“Is it that you think I am stupid?” Yevgeni demanded. “Silly human, he doesn’t have my centuries of experience; I can pull the wool over his eyes and laugh?”

“No. Yevgeni . . . no, I would never think that.”

“Then why bring this thing about Tasia Manei up in the first place? We know about your past connections with her. We also know that you broke off those connections a long time ago. Why would you believe we cared one way or the other about her?”

“I thought . . .”

“You thought you could distract me, pull me away from the truth. That I am very stupid.” Very calmly, Yevgeni reached into the front of his jacket and produced his Phalanx heavy pistol. “Vara, I’m sure with your training you have noticed the psychological dynamic Quintus and I have tried to build here.”

Vara nodded.

“You may not have noticed one aspect of it,” he said, turning off the safety. “Quintus is _not_ the Bad Cop.”

* * *

**_24 February 2185, T’Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

Nyxeris looked up from her work and half-rose from her chair as I entered her office, closed the door, and pulled a chair up to her desk for myself.

“Doctor? How may I serve you?”

I waved for her to sit down. “We can talk about that in a moment, Nyxeris.”

“As you wish, Doctor.” She returned to her seat and watched me attentively.

I considered her: plain, competent, efficient, rational, always painstakingly polite. An ideal employee. I had been reluctant to grant her control of the Analysis department, but since then I had come to depend on her quiet competence. If she had a failing, it was that she had no _flair,_ no capacity for sudden flashes of insight or productive genius. She seemed utterly reliable, but she would never _exceed_ my expectations of her.

I found her something of a mystery. On an impulse, I decided to probe. “Nyxeris, why are you here?”

She frowned slightly, just a tiny furrowing of her brow. “I don’t understand.”

I gestured as if to take in the rest of T’Soni Analytics outside her door. “For most of the senior staff, I know what motivates them to work here. Aspasia is one of my oldest friends, and she loves the idea of building a powerful and profitable corporation out of nothing. Yevgeni and the other human biotics consider themselves to be in my debt, many of them like the excitement and danger that this work offers them, and Yevgeni of course has fallen in love with Aspasia. Arin and his quarians are here to put their technical skills to good use and earn their success on Pilgrimage. Quintus is as concerned about the Reapers as I am. And so on. But what motivates Nyxeris?”

She wasn’t accustomed to thinking about such questions, I could tell. One finger tapped on the desktop, which for her constituted a sign of great agitation. “Well . . . this job is a grand challenge, Doctor. I wouldn’t be able to stretch my skills so far elsewhere. You pay me very well.”

“Professional interest, then? A paycheck?” I cocked my head at her. “Is that really all there is to it?”

Suddenly Nyxeris could not hold my gaze. Her hands came off the desktop and piled up in her lap. “I’m sorry, Doctor. I don’t know what to say.”

“No, Nyxeris, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry. It’s just that you’re difficult to get to know. I’m concerned for you. I want you to be happy here.”

“Please don’t be concerned.” She glanced at me from under her brow, biting her lip slightly, and somehow the expression caused my heart to miss a beat. “I’m happy in this work.”

Suddenly I was _not at all_ sure that I wanted to dig further. The implications of that glance, of her abrupt discomfort the moment I began speaking of motivations, they suggested something I had never even considered possible.

_Goddess, is that it? Is she . . . **attracted** to me?_

If so, this line of discussion was something I needed to bring to a halt _right away_. Unconsciously I leaned back in my chair a little, away from her, and pretended to take an interest in the _objets d’art_ on the shelf behind her desk. “Well. I suppose I’ll take your word for it. I didn’t mean to put you ill at ease, Nyxeris. I’ve always been very pleased with your work here. You’ve done a better job of managing Analysis than I could have. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help you.”

She stared down at her desk, her face under strict control. “Thank you, Doctor. Is there anything else?”

“Actually, there is. I have an assignment for you, Nyxeris, and I want you to use the utmost discretion while you work on it. You are not to share what I am about to tell you with anyone but me, not even with your people here in Analysis.”

She held my gaze once more, probably relieved to be back on a safe topic. “Of course, Doctor. What is it?”

“I need to know everything we can discover about the Shadow Broker.”

Her eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Interesting. I will begin right away.”

“It’s not greatly urgent,” I assured her. “I will check back with you every few days to see what progress you’ve made. What is important is that you be very careful with any information you discover. Keep your work in a secure partition on the network, and again, do not discuss this project with anyone but me.”

“Doctor . . .” She hesitated for a moment. “It sounds as if you suspect we have been compromised.”

I shook my head. “Not precisely, Nyxeris. I’m only aware that the Shadow Broker is _very good_ at what he does. I would prefer not to take any chances.”

“I understand. I will do my best.”

I smiled at her and rose to leave her office. “I’m certain you will.”

* * *

**_25 February 2185, T’Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

“Yevgeni, we’ve gone around and around with this,” said Vara wearily. “I’ve told you flat out, I have _not_ betrayed the firm. I would _never_ betray the firm. There is _no combination of incentives_ that would lead me to betray the firm. I might make mistakes. I might fail at the tasks I’ve been assigned. Treason is just out of the question. I still don’t know what you’re after, but I think you’re at the point of asking me to _make shit up_. I won’t do that.”

Yevgeni looked down at the table, where his Phalanx had rested untouched for over an hour. Vara had barely glanced at it when it first appeared, and she had apparently ignored it ever since. Probably she had guessed that Yevgeni was not really willing to shoot her.

“All right, Vara,” he said at last. “We’re going to have to go talk this over. Wait here.”

He rose from his chair and moved to the door, Quintus falling in behind.

“Yevgeni,” called Vara.

He stopped just before the door to look back at her.

“I want to talk to Liara.”

“I’m afraid that isn’t possible, Vara.”

“You had better _make_ it possible, Yevgeni. Otherwise when you come back, you have two choices. Either you _use_ that sidearm of yours, or I walk out of here once and for all.”

Yevgeni hesitated for a moment, and then nodded.

A few moments later, the human and the turian stood beside me, where I continued to watch Vara alone in the darkened room. She still sat at the table, in the same position she had held for the last hour, staring dully into the darkness.

“You heard?” asked Yevgeni.

“Yes.” I sighed and rose from my seat, stretching to ease stiff joints and muscles. “Your opinion?”

“She has a very strong will and is well trained. She has very precisely estimated the limits of what we are willing to do. If she is still hiding something, I don’t think we will be able to pull it out of her. Not without using methods you won’t approve.”

“Probably not even _with_ those methods,” said Quintus. “Personally, I think she’s telling the truth.”

I glanced at Yevgeni. He took a deep breath and then nodded. “I can’t prove it, but my gut tells me Quintus is right. She’s telling the truth. She’s not the mole.”

“Then it must have been James after all,” I mused.

“Unless we’ve missed something,” said Yevgeni.

“I hope not. If our reasoning is faulty, then the mole could be almost _anyone_. Or the Shadow Broker somehow deduced what he knew about Kalliste Renai through other means.”

“I don’t know. What I do know is that we had better decide what to do about Vara.”

I reached back and fiddled nervously with my crest for a moment. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Are you sure?” asked Quintus. “She’s got to be _really_ pissed off by now.”

“It’s my responsibility. I’ll do it.”

I walked alone through the door into the darkened room. “VI, lights at half, and turn off the overhead.”

Vara sat and watched me approach as the lights shifted to something less stark and unforgiving. Her face gave nothing away.

I sat down in the chair Yevgeni had been using. “Vara, we have a problem.”

“I agree,” she said tensely. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“Yes, I am.” I held her gaze, saw fatigue and frustration and more than a little well-controlled anger. “Vara, we just finished fighting a war against Eclipse because _someone_ compromised the Kalliste Renai identity. That’s what drove them to attack us in the first place.”

She leaned back in her chair, watching me with only a flicker of surprise on her face, obviously thinking through the implications. “I see. Only a few of us ever knew about that . . .”

“By the time we started the war I had already cleared Aspasia, Yevgeni, Arin, and Quintus. That left you and James.”

“And James is dead.” Vara nodded slowly. “Well, I suppose he could have betrayed _you_ , but I have a hard time believing that he could have betrayed _Yevgeni_. They went back years. Nor would he have had any interest in helping Eclipse.”

 _She still believes the betrayal was to Eclipse_. _Or she is being careful to convince me that she believes so._

“You can see the problem,” I said. “Either James was the traitor, which seems unlikely, and we would never be able to prove it . . .”

“Or I’m the traitor, and it’s plausible because I’m asari and I have at least a tenuous connection to Eclipse.”

“Yes.”

She continued to watch me for a long minute. Then she nodded to herself. “All right. I don’t like it, but I understand why this had to happen. So what now?”

“Vara, I still can’t _prove_ that you’re clean.”

“Yes. You can.”

“How?”

Slowly she rose from her chair, careful to make no threatening motions. I followed suit, and we stood watching each other across the little table.

“By accepting me as your acolyte,” she said at last.

“ _What?_ ”

The door slammed open behind me, and I could hear Yevgeni and Quintus hurrying into the room. I held up a hand to stop them from taking any precipitate action.

“Vara, that’s one of the most bizarre proposals I’ve ever heard.” I shook my head. “Goddess, I can’t accept _anyone_ as an acolyte. I’m barely half your age. I’m barely old enough to vote in the Assembly.”

She _grinned_ at me. “Yes. It _would_ scandalize the Matriarchs, wouldn’t it?”

“Goddess, don’t tempt me . . . but Vara, it turns all asari society on its head. I don’t have the age, the experience, the wisdom, the _areté_ , or anything like a consistent philosophy.”

“Is there a _law_ or something?” She shook her head. “Liara, I don’t care about your age, you have more than enough _areté_ for me, and I think _the galaxy needs to get ready for the Reapers no matter what it takes_ is all the philosophy we can afford right now. Most importantly, this is the only way I can think of to regain your trust.”

“Assuming you’re not planning to use the mind-link to fry Dr. T’Soni’s brain,” growled Yevgeni.

“Now you’re just raising objections for their own sake,” Vara snapped. “If you think I _could_ overcome Liara’s will enough to do her any harm, even assuming I wanted to, you’re insane.”

I shook my head again, still resisting the idea . . . but then I forced myself to stop. Forced myself to think through the implications. Coldly and rationally weighed the advantages against the costs. Reached a decision.

“You’re right, Vara,” I said at last. “If you are truly committed to this . . .”

“I am,” she said calmly.

“Then let it be done. Yevgeni, Quintus, you can witness this if you wish, but _don’t interfere._ ”

“Wait a moment,” said Yevgeni. “There’s someone else who should be here.”

It took a few minutes for Aspasia to arrive. It gave me the time to gather my composure.

 _Goddess, this is something I hadn’t expected to do for centuries_. _If ever._

Finally it was time. Aspasia stood at my right hand, Yevgeni at my left, Quintus looming behind us with a hand close to his weapon.

Vara stood before me, summoning up her will, and then her eyes went white with finely controlled biotic power. She knelt before me, close enough that I could reach out and lay my hand on the back of her neck.

“Liara T’Soni,” she intoned, quietly but very clearly. “By your _areté_ I will serve you. My arm, my power, my mind are yours to call upon against all manner of foes. Your choices shall govern my choices, your morals shall guide my morals, your will shall be to me as a command. This shall be so until you release me or my life shall end.”

Blue power surged around her, a blazing nimbus brighter than any I had seen her produce before. She raised her eyes to meet mine, extended a bare hand for me to grasp.

I reached out and took her hand between mine. “Vara T’Rathis, I accept your service. In return I undertake to be a good and faithful mistress, cherishing your _areté_ and your life as if they were my own.”

I let my mind slip free, my own biotic corona flaring, blue-white light sliding down my arms to merge with hers around our conjoined hands. Vision failed as my eyes darkened to black.

“ _Embrace eternity_.”

I saw:

Vitality, enthusiasm, a spirit that shimmered with sheer enjoyment of life. She was like wind, a wave of cold, clear air rolling down from the mountain heights, where the stars shone like crystal high above. A wild thing, untamed and elemental. Yet there was reason and great intelligence as well, incisive and clean, like a bright blade that could cut through any confusion or error.

She opened her mind to me, and I saw no shadows or fog, no place where deception could hide. She knew nothing of any betrayal. I doubted that she was even _capable_ of betrayal. If she could not remain loyal to a cause, she would turn and walk away in the full light of day, not use a knife in the dark.

_I see. Can you forgive my doubts?_

_Gladly. I was angry, but I understand. You had to know. You had to be sure._

_Yes. But now . . ._

As our minds disengaged, I sent her a last flash of knowledge. The first thing I saw once the joining was over was Vara’s silver eyes, open wide with surprise.

“The compromise was never to Eclipse in the first place!” she exclaimed.

I let go of her hand, permitted my biotic aura to fade away. “No. The information came from the Shadow Broker, by way of Nassana Dantius.”

“Nassana . . . _we_ destroyed that mining facility?”

“That’s right,” rumbled Quintus. “Another secret you’re going to have to keep.”

Vara stood, swaying slightly on her feet.

I caught her by the shoulders, helping her regain her equilibrium. “You’re in the inner circle now, Vara. It’s not a comfortable place to be.”

She gave me another wicked grin. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, _despoina_.”


	29. A Distant Thunder

Historians have had difficulty with the _names_ of the wars I fought in as a maiden. In fact, they often disagree as to _how many_ discrete interstellar conflicts took place between 2183 CE and 2186 CE. Human historians tend to count three wars. Non-human historians, on the other hand, often neglect the conflict of 2185 CE since the only race directly targeted was humanity. In any case, the great Reaper Invasion of 2186 CE tends to overwhelm the others, relegating them to the status of historical footnotes, mere skirmishes before the true battle finally began.

To my mind, only _one_ conflict of any significance took place during that time: the _Reaper War,_ which began on Eden Prime and ended in the orbital space above Earth about three years later. The Reapers had a consistent objective throughout that period: find a way back into the mass relay network from intergalactic space, and then eradicate every trace of high-technology civilization in the entire Milky Way galaxy. The Reapers met with several setbacks before their final assault, but they were determined and patient, full of cunning and overwhelming might acquired across geological eons. Until the very end, they must have regarded all our efforts to delay them as utterly trivial.

The second phase of the Reaper War began on 16 June 2185 CE. No one noticed at first. Well, no one but the thirty-five thousand human colonists living on Tirane, who that day were _harvested_ down to the last infant.

The Reapers – or their agents – chose well. Tirane was an inhospitable world, cold and dry, circling an unremarkable red dwarf star well off the main trade routes, out in the Terminus Systems. The human colonists had selected the place precisely because of its isolation, wanting a place to live far away from the Alliance or any other great power. Their stubborn independence proved their undoing. It took several days before the tramp freighter _Seward’s Luck_ arrived and found the place empty, buildings and equipment untouched, as if the entire population had simply stepped around a corner into oblivion.

* * *

**_8 July 2185, T’Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

“Dr. T’Soni?”

I stopped on my way across the watch floor. “What is it, Tana?”

Tana Charentis glanced up at me with an intent expression: asari, about five hundred years old, a matron with young children of her own. She served as one of the best analysts in Nyxeris’s department, assigned to the Outer Terminus Systems desk.

“I’ve found something strange, Doctor. Have you ever heard of a human colony called Cold Mountain?”

I frowned. “It sounds vaguely familiar. What about it?”

“It’s gone.”

“What do you mean, _gone?_ Destroyed by pirates or slavers? A natural disaster?”

She shook her head. “Nothing so simple. A merchant ship visiting the planet reports that the colonists have simply vanished. No sign of disaster or violence. The colony’s infrastructure is still intact. It’s just that the _people_ have disappeared. No survivors at all.”

“Wait a minute.” I thought back through other reports I had seen over the past few weeks. “That sounds familiar.”

“I thought so too,” said Tana, tapping at her console. “I did a search through the databases. This isn’t the first human colony to go off the grid.”

She produced a list:

 _Tirane._ 16 June 2185. Thirty-five thousand colonists disappeared.

 _Hochbaden_. 20 June 2185. Twenty thousand colonists disappeared.

 _Botany Bay_. 26 June 2185. Forty thousand colonists disappeared.

 _Cold Mountain_. 1 July 2185. Sixty-five thousand colonists disappeared.

“All the same,” she said after I had a moment to absorb her findings. “Independent little human colonies, out in the Terminus Systems, and they just vanish.”

I opened my omni-tool and accessed our cartographic section. The four colonies weren’t in the same cluster. In fact they were widely separated – Tirane and Botany Bay in particular were over fifty thousand light-years apart. “I see why you don’t attribute this to typical Terminus piracy.”

“Why attack worlds that widely dispersed?” Tana agreed.

“Unless the very smallness and isolation of the colonies is the attractive factor,” I suggested. “The humans have built dozens of small colonies that they can’t defend. Perhaps some clever pirate has hit on the strategy of using the mass-relay network to reach tempting targets across the entire galaxy.”

“Perhaps . . . but then, why no signs of violence? So far none of the reports have mentioned as much as a bullet hole or a scorch mark anywhere.”

“You have a point. Every four to six days . . .” I thought hard for another moment, and then raised my voice. “ _Nyxeris!_ ”

The chief of Analysis emerged from her office and came over to us, immediately attentive as always. “Yes, Doctor?”

I explained what Tana had discovered. “It’s been seven days since the Cold Mountain colony vanished. If the pattern holds, another colony should _already_ have been affected by . . . whatever this is. Find out.”

“Where should this go on the priority list?” Nyxeris asked mildly.

“At the top.”

I suddenly found myself standing in the middle of an expanding pool of silence. Half of the watch floor had stopped work to stare at me.

“I have what the humans would call _a hunch_ ,” I explained. “This could be related to the Reapers.”

Nyxeris shook her head. “Doctor, this does not fit the pattern for Reaper activity that you discovered on Ilos.”

“That’s true,” I agreed, “but Vigil also suggested that the normal pattern has been broken by the failure of the Citadel mass relay. With _Sovereign_ destroyed, the Reapers may be attempting another method to open the next extinction cycle. A new approach, more subtle and stealthy.”

Nyxeris still looked dubious, but she nodded. “All right, Doctor. I will assign an analytic team and retask Yevgeni’s people. Tana, you will be in charge for Analysis.”

Tana nodded. “I’m on it.”

By the end of the day we had another item for the list. A krogan mercenary had gossiped in a bar on Taranis, he had been overheard by ARGOS, and the AI had passed the information along to Vara. The human colony world of Kimanjano had been _affected_ on the sixth of July, just two days before. Another fifty thousand humans, gone without a trace.

* * *

We met in my office after most of the day shift had gone home: Aspasia, Nyxeris and Tana from Analysis, Yevgeni and Vara from Collection, Arin from Technology, Quintus from Security, and me.

“For the time being, I want this to be our top priority,” I told my people. “So far we have over two hundred thousand humans missing, and we appear to be the only ones who have noticed. I intend to contact the Alliance and make sure they are aware of the problem. In the meantime, we need to learn as much as we possibly can about what is happening.”

“Best thing would be to observe a disappearance while it’s happening,” observed Yevgeni.

Vara snorted. “If you can manage that _without_ getting picked up by whatever is doing it.”

“There would be a certain amount of risk, to be sure.”

“I agree with Yevgeni,” I said. “I want as many of our assets as possible to get into a position to observe possible targets for the disappearance.”

“We can’t watch every little colony or outpost in the galaxy,” Yevgeni objected.

“No, but perhaps we can narrow the list down.” Tana leaned forward and tapped at her omni-tool. “All five of the vanished settlements have had similar features. Human colonies, located on isolated worlds in the Terminus Systems, established without any direct Alliance support, with populations in the tens of thousands.”

“Interesting that such large populations are being targeted,” mused Arin.

“Less than a hundred thousand isn’t _large_ ,” scoffed Quintus.

The quarian shook his head. “Actually it is, relatively speaking. Suppose someone wanted to attack the human species. Then there are many much smaller military or commercial outposts, owned by the Alliance or by some human commercial entity, which would make better strategic targets. Why attack such out-of-the-way places, take all the humans, and then just _leave?_ ”

“Hmm.” The turian shifted in his chair, suddenly thinking hard. “Unless taking the humans is the whole point. It sounds almost like slavers.”

“Except slavers would leave behind _plenty_ of signs of violence,” I pointed out, remembering Shepard’s stories of Mindoir.

“A new weapon?” said Vara tentatively. “Something that could incapacitate the colonists all at once?”

Quintus nodded. “Gas, maybe.”

“Maybe.” I took a deep breath and tried to calm the queasy sensation in my stomach.

 _This might be something new but mundane_. _It may have nothing to do with the Reapers at all_.

Something in the back of my mind didn’t believe it.

“If it’s slavers, why take _all_ the colonists?” asked Aspasia. “I mean . . . even the infants? And humans eventually become physically incapable as they age. Elder humans wouldn’t make good slaves.”

No one had an answer for that.

“Here,” said Tana at last. “I think we can concentrate on a subset of manageable size.”

Her omni-tool projected a hologram into the air above my conference table. A list:

 _Aurore_ _Beowulf_ _Esperance_ _Fehl Prime_ _Ferris Fields_ _Freedom’s Progress_ _Horizon_ _King_ _Kwantung_ _Montana_ _New Canton_ _New Melbourne_ _Paradox_ _Zanzibar_

“Fourteen worlds,” I said. “Yevgeni, if the pattern holds true the next event will be in two or three days. How many of these can we cover in that time?”

Yevgeni exchanged a glance with Vara. “Most of them, I think, but only if Vara and I pull an all-nighter to reassign our assets.”

“I’ll help,” said Arin. “Worlds like this tend to stay off the extranet, but we may have a little bandwidth to some of them.”

“All right. I’ll stay late tonight as well,” I said, ignoring an unhappy glance from Aspasia. “I want a deployment plan ready for my approval as soon as you can manage it.”

There was a chorus of agreement, and everyone rose to leave my office. Well, almost everyone. As I moved back to my desk, I realized one very large turian had remained behind.

“Is something bothering you, Quintus?” I asked.

He glanced at the door to verify that it was closed. “Yes. I was wondering if you noticed something about the meeting we just finished.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Everyone in the room had something to contribute. With one rather prominent exception.”

I thought back, and quickly saw what Quintus meant. “Nyxeris kept quiet.”

“Seems a little strange for the head of our Analytic department, doesn’t it?”

“She’s . . . very introverted. I’ve never had any reason to complain of her analytic ability, or her willingness to bring important information to me personally.”

“I suppose. Mark it down to my naturally suspicious mind. I keep thinking that we never did figure out who compromised our security over the Kalliste Renai identity. It occurs to me that the head of Analysis is going to be in a very good position to observe almost any information we have.”

“True – but Quintus, Nyxeris never had access to that information.” I held up a hand when he seemed about to object further. “I know. Clearly _someone_ got the information despite our access controls and need-to-know procedures. I agree that Nyxeris is a likely candidate. I have been watching her for some time. Entrusting her with specific tasks that might tempt her to betray herself, if she is a mole. I have been doing the same for other members of our staff as well.”

“How many?” asked Quintus, giving me a startled glance.

I drummed my fingers on my desktop for a moment while I reviewed the problem. “Thirteen so far. Most of them are in the Collection and Analysis departments, although I have my suspicions about one of Arin’s quarian technicians.”

“ _Spirits_ ,” he muttered. “You play a very deep game, Doctor.”

“Not deep enough, given that I haven’t uncovered any moles yet. I’m discovering that the counter-intelligence business sometimes requires a great deal of patience.” I smiled at him. “Quintus, keep using that _naturally suspicious mind_ of yours. Come to me if you see anything that seems off. I trust your judgment.”

“Hmm. I was never any good at _ludus_ _latrunculorum_ , but I’ll do what I can.”

* * *

By late that evening, Yevgeni, Vara, and Arin put together a plan to cover twelve of the fourteen worlds we suspected might be targeted next. I wasn’t happy at the gap of two remaining worlds, but they convinced me that it couldn’t be avoided. I sent them home.

Before I left, on the other hand, I had two calls to make. The first went through with minimal difficulty. Fortunately the timing was good to speak to someone on the Citadel’s common day shift.

A dark-skinned male human appeared on my screen, heavy of feature, with close-cropped hair going silver and piercing dark eyes. He wore a conservative business suit which he managed to give the air of a uniform. His face lit up as he saw who was calling. His voice was a smooth baritone, as always very pleasant to hear. “Dr. T’Soni. This is an unexpected pleasure.”

“Councilor Anderson. I doubt you will consider it so when I tell you why I have called.”

His expression became serious. “Go on.”

I explained what we had discovered, went through the list of colonies we knew had already been affected, and then gave him Tana’s list of likely next targets. His listened in silence, his face becoming more and more grim as I went along.

“Damn,” was his only comment when I had finished. “Is all of this verified?”

“Short of actually going to see the affected colonies, yes.”

Anderson shook his head, clearly angry. “It pains me to admit it, but I don’t think anyone in the Alliance has put this together yet, at least not to quite the same degree you have. Navy Intelligence has sent me partial reports about Tirane and Cold Mountain, but not the other three, and they haven’t noticed the weirdness factor yet. Last time I spoke to Admiral Layton he was still calling this _pirates_.”

“I don’t think that’s correct, Councilor.” I dropped his gaze and made an uneasy gesture with one hand. “I don’t _know_ what this is yet, but it doesn’t feel like the typical Terminus Systems warlord out for blood.”

“No it doesn’t.” Anderson sighed heavily, and then leaned back in his seat while he watched me. “What do you recommend, Doctor?”

“We need to know more. I have my own resources out to investigate, but is there anything the Alliance can do?”

“I’m afraid there are very strict limits on what the Navy can accomplish.” He made a frustrated gesture. “These little voortrekker colonies out in the Terminus Systems, they’re out there because they’re trying to get _away_ from the Alliance. Some of them are nationalist groups who hate the _world government_ they think the Alliance has become. Others are religious or ideological fanatics who need elbow room to practice their dogmas. Some of them are just stubborn people who want a chance to pioneer, far away from the crowds on Earth.”

“Like Shepard’s people, on Mindoir,” I said quietly.

“Yeah, a lot like that, only more so. At least the Mindoir colonists only went as far as the Traverse, and they never completely cut off ties with home. They were willing to let the Alliance defend them – they only had trouble because we fell down on the job. These colonies out in the Terminus Systems, they don’t want _anything_ from Earth. Meanwhile, for every human who moves out that far, there are a hundred more still stuck on Earth who sympathize with their position, and _they_ all vote.”

“I see. The Alliance isn’t willing to do anything that might appear to encroach on the colonists’ independence.”

“Right. Including sending Navy patrols through their space on anything resembling a reasonable schedule. Not that the Alliance is ever keen on the idea of operating on a large scale in the Terminus Systems, as you know.”

“Councilor, do you suppose someone _knows_ this about Alliance policy?”

“Like whoever is making the colonies disappear? They would have to be living under a rock to _not_ know it. Alliance policy in this area isn’t exactly a secret.”

I nodded, not at all surprised. “All right. I will pass along anything else that I learn.”

“Thank you, Doctor. I’ll do the same, and maybe I can get the Alliance to move on this.”

I gave him a very small, ironic smile. “What about your colleagues on the Council?”

“ _Hmmph_. _That_ will be the day.”

I waited for a long time before making my second call, looking out at the night-drenched Nos Astra skyline. Eventually I decided that there was no sense in putting it off any further. I put in my code for the Lazarus Project, and waited for Miranda Lawson to answer . . . and waited, and _waited_.

I checked the local time on Lazarus Station: middle of the day shift. No reason for my call to go unanswered, even if Miranda was up to her figurative elbows in work.

I tried a second code, one that I had been given after Mumbai.

That one didn’t work either.

It was well after midnight before I gave up the attempt.

 _Apparently_ _Cerberus is not at home to me_.

I knew they would want to hear about what we had discovered. The Alliance might find it politically _inconvenient_ to attend to a scattering of renegade colonies, but the Illusive Man prided himself on being humanity’s guard beast. No attack on human beings would be too trivial or too difficult for him to concern himself with. So why choose _now_ to avoid contact with someone who – be it admitted – he probably considered at least a potential asset?

 _This is no coincidence_.


	30. A Sudden Storm

**_11 July 2185, T’Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

The next few days were among the most _anxious_ of my life. Despite all the power and influence I had accumulated, I had to face the fact that a great many things remained entirely out of my control. I didn’t know which colony might be affected next. I could do nothing to improve our coverage of the possible targets. I had no new information for Councilor Anderson or the Alliance. I simply _could not_ get through to Cerberus. I had no idea what was happening to Shepard. I didn’t even know if he remained alive or under Miranda Lawson’s care.

I had become too accustomed to my role as a successful information broker. It had been a long time since I felt so much in the dark, and I _did not_ enjoy it.

For lack of any better options, I directed most of the firm back to their normal tasking, leaving only Tana Charentis and her analytic team to work on the missing-colonies problem. Then I sat in my office, unable to concentrate, compulsively glancing at the clock every few minutes, waiting for the slightest scrap of news from any source.

When my desktop chimed and a comm window opened to reveal Yevgeni’s face, I nearly jumped out of my chair.

“Liara, you had better come to the large conference room,” said Yevgeni soberly. “It’s starting.”

I hurried down the hall, fighting to control the nausea in my gut. When I burst into the conference room, I found Aspasia, Yevgeni, Vara, Nyxeris, Tana, and Arin already present. The quarian worked furiously on his omni-tool and a tabletop console, while the others sat and looked uneasy.

“Where?” I demanded.

“Freedom’s Progress,” said Yevgeni. “We had Franklin there, one of our best agents. He’s gone off the grid. The entire colony has gone off the grid.”

“When?”

“Less than ten minutes ago. Franklin managed to call in, but . . . well, you had better hear this for yourself.”

Yevgeni used his own keyboard to call up an audio file.

“ _This is Operative Franklin. Something’s happening . . . let me get to a window . . . holy shit, what is . . .”_ We heard a series of short, unintelligible noises, then static.

“Arin is trying to re-establish contact,” said Yevgeni quietly.

“There’s some kind of jamming, like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” said the quarian. “I can’t reconnect to Franklin’s channel. Extranet bandwidth is down to a few hundred bits per second downlink, and _zero_ uplink.”

“Yevgeni, pull up that audio file again,” I commanded. “Enhance that last section, just before it cuts out.”

Yevgeni obeyed. We heard the same strange noises, this time stretched out and with greater contrast. There was the sound of a heavy object falling, striking a wall or floor with a muffled _thump_. Then we heard hoarse grunting, a male human’s voice reacting to sudden shock or injury, twice, three times. Finally an elongated whisper, almost impossible to make out.

Yevgeni worked with his console some more. What we heard was not quite a word. “ _Sssss . . . aaaaah._ ” Then silence.

“He was trying to tell us _something_ ,” said Vara.

“It sounded like someone trying to speak through a partial paralysis,” Aspasia observed.

I sat down at the head of the table. “It was so sudden. What could have taken them so much by surprise?”

Arin raised his mask to glance at me. “Doctor, the extranet and comms channels to Freedom’s Progress are simply down. I don’t think there’s any way to get back in contact with Franklin. I have another idea, though. It’s a little risky.”

“How so?”

“There’s a quarian living on Freedom’s Progress. Veetor’Nara nar Rayya. I’m not sure what he’s doing there, but before the attack Operative Franklin noticed his presence and helped me get an implant into his personal networks. Quarian equipment doesn’t use the same channels as human gear, so I _might_ be able to push a connection through despite the jamming. But if I do, that might call attention to Veetor.”

“What are the odds of that?” I asked.

Arin shrugged. “Normally I would say low, but I don’t know the technical capabilities of the attackers.”

I didn’t have to think very hard about that question. One life against who knew how many thousands of others? “Do it.”

Arin nodded and turned back to his console.

“How many on Freedom’s Progress?” asked Aspasia quietly.

“Over ninety thousand humans, scattered among a dozen or so small settlements,” said Tana. “It’s a bigger colony than the others that have been attacked. They have some military strength, too . . . no warships, but a well-armed militia and some security mechs.”

“Whoever is doing this, they’re stepping up their game,” said Vara.

We waited in silence for perhaps ten minutes. Then Arin muttered to himself in triumph. With a touch of his controls, he turned down the overhead lights and activated the big interface screen at one end of the room.

“I don’t have video feed,” he explained, “but I was able to tap into Veetor’s network. He seems in turn to have hooked into the colony’s security camera systems. I think I have enough clear bandwidth to query the network and pull down some still images.”

One by one, the images spread across the screen, twenty or thirty seconds in between.

_A cargo door stood open in the side of a pre-fab building, three humans posed on the threshold, all of them looking up with expressions of fear, one of them pointing upward past the camera._

_A single human female lay supine out on a green hillside, her posture contorted, her hands raised in a futile attempt to protect her face._

_A dozen human figures were visible in an open courtyard, all of them frozen in positions of panicked flight._

“What’s that scruff in the images?” asked Yevgeni.

Now that he mentioned it, I saw that none of the images were very clear. Something obscured them, blurring the lines and colors, as if the air on Freedom’s Progress had become laden with a dark mist.

“Can’t tell,” said Arin. “It’s not in the image compression or decompression. I’m getting enough from Veetor’s equipment to get high-quality images, even if they _are_ stills.”

“Maybe it’s something else being caught on camera,” murmured Nyxeris, staring at the images in horrified fascination.

Then the next image appeared.

_A tall, massive figure stood among the fallen humans, bipedal but monstrous, with a chitinous carapace and a broad, flat, four-eyed head. It held a firearm of some kind as it watched over its victims._

I found myself standing bolt upright, my chair falling to the floor behind me, my fists slamming down on the tabletop as I stared at the image. “ _Them!_ ”

Suddenly everyone in the room stared at me. Yevgeni spoke: “Doctor? Do you recognize it?”

I swallowed against the bitter taste in my mouth. “That is a _Collector_.”

“Are you sure? I thought the Collectors were a myth.”

“Oh, no. They are _quite_ real. Tana?”

“They’re a species that sometimes appears out in the Terminus Systems,” the analyst explained. “No one is sure where they come from, although they seem to arrive through the Omega-4 relay in the Sahrabarik system, a relay no one else has been able to use. They have a reputation as slavers, although they don’t deal in bulk. They acquire . . . _curiosities_ , and they deliver very advanced technology in return.”

“What kind of _curiosities_ are you talking about?” asked Yevgeni.

Tana shrugged. “They’re interested in individuals with unusual talents, odd genetic quirks, that sort of thing. They’ve been active for centuries, although sightings have been up sharply over the past few years.”

“More specifically, over the past two years and five months.” I sat back down slowly, still trying to process the implications. “Collector activity began to surge at the same time that Saren Arterius opened his campaign on behalf of _Sovereign_. Almost to the day.”

Tana frowned and checked her omni-tool. “Goddess, you’re right.”

“Shepard and I . . . received information about the Collectors while we fought Saren. We saw the trend then, although we didn’t understand it. I later saw some of Saren’s biotechnology on Virmire, and hints that it was of Collector origin.”

“ _Bozhe moi_ ,” whispered Yevgeni. “This is the Reapers.”

“Yes. I think we can assume that the Collectors work on behalf of the Reapers. Like Saren.” I looked around the table, collecting everyone’s gaze while more horrific images continued to spread across the screen. “As of today, T’Soni Analytics is going on a war footing. I want all department heads to access the sealed files under _Case Green:_ response to a Reaper attempt to take control of the mass relay network through proxies. Allocate your resources accordingly. We will continue to do our commercial work as far as possible, but our first priority must be to identify the threat, determine its capabilities, warn the major powers, and prepare to assist in a unified response.”

There was dead silence for a moment, but then Yevgeni made an ironic chuckle. “Is that all?” he asked.

I glared at him. “You have a concern?”

“Doctor . . . _Liara_. You know as well as I do, there will be no _unified response_. The Alliance will be unable or unwilling to operate in the Terminus Systems. And if the Alliance does not respond, who else will care? The turians? The salarians? Even the _asari?_ ”

Aspasia reached out to put a hand on her bondmate’s arm, but she said nothing.

“I am sorry, _milaya_ , but you know this is the truth.” Yevgeni stared at me. “This is only a few humans, after all. Less than a million human lives out of the entire civilized galaxy, and they were foolish enough to move out into wild space on their own. Who will lift a finger to protect them? Who will respond to our warnings before it is far too late? Even if we shout?”

Slowly I nodded. “You’re right. Maybe none of the major powers will see fit to act. We still must do all we can to warn them, to _convince_ them to respond to this threat. But if that doesn’t work . . .”

All of them watched me.

“If that doesn’t work, then _we_ will act. Even if we are forced to do it alone.”

* * *

Not quite eight hours after Freedom’s Progress went off the grid, Arin managed to rebuild a high-bandwidth connection to Veetor’s personal network. Aspasia, Yevgeni, Vara, Nyxeris, Tana and I all hurried to join the quarian in his workroom. As Arin began a remote data-mine of Veetor’s equipment, we quickly discovered several things.

 _First_ , the human population of Freedom’s Progress was _gone_. Veetor had apparently taken over the colony’s entire security network, including all of the monitor cameras . . . and now, not a single camera showed a human presence. Once again the entire population had been taken, down to the last and least.

 _Second_ , Veetor himself was still there. He had apparently barricaded himself into his pre-fab module when the attack began, and had remained unmolested through the entire attack. We could hear audio from his omni-tool, and I cringed as we listened to his running stream of talk.

“Goddess,” I whispered. “That poor man is positively _unhinged._ ”

“At least he’s alive,” said Yevgeni. “The things he must have seen today . . .”

“Wait a moment,” said Aspasia. “ _How_ is he alive? The Collectors must have missed him – but on the other colonies they didn’t miss _anyone._ ”

I frowned in thought. “It can’t be simply because he barricaded himself in. A few people must have been shut in on the other colonies, but the Collectors found them anyway.”

“Could it be because he’s quarian?” suggested Vara. “The other colonies were human-only settlements. The Collectors might not have been looking for anything but humans.”

“Or it could be his suit,” said Arin. “Our suits carry a lot of sophisticated systems: bio-filters, medical diagnostics, active sensors, comms gear, ECM. If you don’t know what to look for, we can blend in pretty well against most sensors.”

Yevgeni gave an ironic grin. “Your suits are _stealthed?_ ”

“Yes, to some extent. Remember who our ancestral enemies are. The geth use a lot of different sensor systems to perceive their environment. We’ve often found it useful to be quiet and sneaky.”

“That still suggests there might be a countermeasure to the Collector technology,” I pointed out. “Arin, go back and look at Veetor’s video feeds. There was something in the still images we saw earlier, some distortion or obscuration . . .”

 _Third_ , we discovered how the Collectors had detected their victims.

“Look at this,” said Arin as he pulled up a single still image from Veetor’s data. A woman sprawled on the ground, her hands raised in futile defense. The image seemed patchy, as if thin dark clouds were roiling in front of the camera.

“That’s one of the images we saw when all this started,” I said.

“Right. But look now.” Arin started the video feed. The woman lay on the ground, convulsing, her mouth wide in a silent scream. Her hands scrabbled at her face and upper body. Then she lay still, frozen into her final contorted pose.

Something _crawled_ on her. More somethings flitted through the air, revealing the clouds as being made up of myriad tiny specks.

I stepped close to the screen, trying to pull the image into sharper focus. All I gained from that was a better view of the screen’s pixels. “What are those? Insects?”

“I don’t think so,” said Arin. “I’ve been listening to Veetor’s ramblings. He’s calling them _seekers_ , and he speaks of them as if they’re little machines. I can’t get a close enough view to tell if he’s right, but I’m inclined to believe him. So far it doesn’t look as if his terror has affected his technical judgment.”

“That’s the weapon,” said Vara, certainty in her voice. “It’s some kind of micro-robotic technology. Better than gas. If the little robots are smart enough, they can find their way around obstacles and come right after you. They sting you, put you in some kind of paralytic state, report your location, and then the Collectors can just come pick you up at their leisure.”

“It’s a good hypothesis. It would explain how the Collectors have been so thorough.” I turned away from the screen, trying in vain to repress a skin-crawling sensation of disgust. “Arin, I want you and your team to go over these records very carefully. Make this your absolute top priority. I want to learn everything we can, in time to decide what to do before the next attack. How soon can you put together a report?”

“There’s a lot of data,” said the quarian. “May I raid some of the other departments for technical analysts?”

I glanced at Yevgeni and Nyxeris, who both nodded in acknowledgement. “Go ahead.”

“Then I can have something for you in under fifty hours,” said Arin confidently.

“Do it,” I commanded. “Nyxeris, Tana, I have something else for you. We’ve seen six attacks so far, and you’ve already succeeded in a loose prediction of the location for this one. By the time Arin is finished with his task, I want you to give me a list, weighted by probability, of the most likely targets for the _next_ attack.”

Aspasia gave me a very sharp glance. “Liara, you’re _not_ thinking of going to investigate in person?”

“It’s an option. It depends on what Arin uncovers with his deep analysis. At the very least I want to give the Alliance the best actionable intelligence we can.”

She stared at me mistrustfully, but found no reason to object further. At least not then.

* * *

It was almost midnight before I could finally break away. I had been awake and active for over eighteen hours, I had eaten nothing but a pair of energy bars all day, and the fatigue had sunk into my bones. I knew I would likely spend what remained of the night on the couch in my office.

One more call to make, and then I could sleep. Assuming my mind would let me.

It was a difficult connection. Extranet connections were easy to come by from Illium to _some_ parts of Omega, but I wanted to reach a terminal in the depths of the Gozu district. Some of the data infrastructure in the Omega slums was a century out of date and very poorly maintained.

The angels and ministers of fortune must have been happy with me that night. After only fifteen minutes, the connection went through. I spoke to an assistant, male and human and looking rather harried, and then the great man himself peered out of the screen at me.

“Good morning, Dr. Solus,” I greeted him.

_“Dr. T’Soni! Unexpected to see you. Also unexpected you knew where to locate me. How?”_

I smiled. “Permit me a _few_ professional secrets, Doctor. Do you have a moment?”

_“Only a moment. Very busy. You are aware of my location, you must also be aware of my work?”_

“I understand you are running a medical clinic.”

_“Yes. Need to help people. Always lots of people on Omega need help. Convergence of motives. But situation very difficult now. **Plague** currently running through Gozu district.”_

“That’s terrible.”

_“Also very strange. Highly lethal. Highly virulent. **Cross-species** infection. Batarians, salarians, turians.”_

I blinked, sidetracked by what he had just said. “Doctor, did you just imply that _both_ levo-protein and dextro-protein species are affected?”

Dr. Solus blinked, looking pleased. _“Good to see you quick on uptake. Yes. Only two sentient species seem to be immune to plague: humans and vorcha.”_

“How is that possible?”

_“Ordinarily would not be. Suspect virus engineered.” Sniff. “Very sophisticated technology. Would almost like to meet developers. Unfortunately, would then have to kill them.”_

I felt a chill of suspicion slide down my spine. “Doctor . . . just when did this plague begin?”

_“Saw first patients eight days ago. Initial infection probably three, four days before that, based on observed incubation time, infection rate, local population density.”_

“I believe I have a hypothesis for you: this plague was a bioweapon, engineered and released by the Collectors.”

For the first time in our acquaintance, I saw Dr. Mordin Solus _pause_ for a moment before speaking. Then it ended and he was in full career once more. _“Possible. Collectors certainly have technical capability. Expertise in polyspecific genetics. Motives unclear.”_

“I can help you with the motives. For several weeks now the Collectors have been attacking small human colonies in the Terminus Systems, carrying off the entire population of each colony.”

 _“Ah.”_ He blinked once more. _“Collector interest in humans changes? Suddenly want humans in large numbers? Possibly want **only** humans? Large human population on Omega, convenient to Omega-4 relay. Also many non-humans present, would normally resist attack on station. Plague kills off some non-humans. Causes others to become hostile to humans. Leaves humans isolated. Easy prey for Collectors.”_

That swiftly, he had reconstructed my reasoning and then leaped far beyond it. “I agree.”

_“Sense this may be related to reason for call.”_

“Yes. The Collectors have a weapon, something that has permitted them to capture human colonies without a fight. We’re not sure of its nature, but it appears to be some combination of micro-robotics and biotechnology. Doctor, I can’t think of anyone in the galaxy better able to study this weapon, and find a way to defeat it.”

 _“Probably true,”_ he said.

 _Well, at least he suffers from no false modesty_.

“I can send you our data and analysis. Would you be willing to consult with us on this?”

_“No. Not until plague dealt with here. Have obligation. Besides, Aria not likely to let anyone leave this district until cure is ready.”_

“I understand.”

_“Send data anyway. Have occasional free time while tissue synthesis compiles. Will reconsider consultation once situation here is resolved.” Sniff. “Interesting problem.”_

“Thank you, Doctor. Good luck.”

_“Don’t need luck. Have **science**.”_


	31. Call the Lightning

**_14 July 2185, T’Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

I was in the final stages of preparation for departure when the call came through.

At first the VI only announced _where_ the call came from – a scout ship of quarian registry, the _Varenn_ , currently located somewhere in the Fenris Expanse cluster. I very nearly ignored it, but then I remembered the location of Freedom’s Progress. So instead I hurried back to my office, setting my armor case down by the door, laying my Shuriken down on the desk, and answered.

A female quarian looked out of the screen at me, her suit and hood rich with violet and indigo colors, inlaid with silver.

“Tali!”

 _“Liara. You look like you’re in a hurry,”_ said the quarian soberly.

“I am. We’re going into the field in under an hour. I think you may know why, if you’re in the Fenris Expanse.”

 _“Yes. We just left Freedom’s Progress.”_ Behind her mask, her glowing eyes dropped my gaze. _“Those of us who are left, at any rate.”_

I set aside my own worries, concerned for her. “What’s wrong?”

_“It’s a long story. The Admirals gave me command of the **Varenn** in pursuit of my own mission. We were in the Fenris Expanse, doing stellar survey work, when Freedom’s Progress went off the grid. We knew there was a quarian living there . . .”_

I nodded. “Veetor’Nara, from your birth-ship.”

Tali stared at me for a long moment. _“May I just say that it is **very frightening** that you simply **knew** that?”_

“It’s not a coincidence. We suspected in advance that something might happen on Freedom’s Progress. I had an operative there. We tapped into Veetor’s personal network, among other things, to monitor the situation.”

_“Then you saw what happened?”_

“Some of it. Our connection wasn’t very good, especially through the worst of it, and we lost it entirely a few hours after the event ended. Arin thinks Veetor finally noticed our monitoring and blocked us out.”

_“We found the human colony . . . just **vanished**.”_

“I know. Tali, the Collectors are active out there. Have you heard of them?”

_“I remember hearing about them while we were on the **Normandy** , yes.”_

“They are starting to take whole human colonies. Freedom’s Progress is only the most recent. I’ll send you what we have so far, if you will promise to share it with your people’s leadership.”

_“Of course.”_

“Were you able to reach Veetor?”

 _“Yes.”_ She looked away again. _“Unfortunately he had snapped under the strain of what happened to the colony. He reprogrammed the security mechs to protect him against anything they saw, which included my squad. I lost two hands of good men and women.”_

“Oh, Tali. I’m so sorry.”

She sighed deeply. _“It was a mess from start to finish. But that isn’t why I called. Liara . . . **I’ve seen Shepard**.”_

Suddenly my legs wouldn’t support my weight. Slowly, as if in a dream, I moved to my chair and sat down. “He’s alive?” I whispered when I could trust my voice again.

_“He landed on Freedom’s Progress with two other humans, about three hours after we did. He helped us reach Veetor, even after my squad got torn apart.”_

_Alive. Alive and fighting._ “Tali . . . how did he _seem?_ Was it truly Shepard?”

She hesitated. _“Liara, I can’t be sure. I’ve been turning it over and over in my head ever since we left Freedom’s Progress. It **looked** like him, although he has more scars than I remember, and his body language has changed a little. It sounded like him. He spoke to me in quarian exoteric dialect for a moment, and he still has that same terrible accent. He mentioned details about our fight against Saren, how my Pilgrimage turned out, things like that. But . . .”_

“What is it?” I prompted, after she seemed unwilling to proceed.

_“Liara, **he’s with Cerberus**.”_

I frowned but said nothing.

Tali gave me a sharp glance through her visor. _“You don’t seem surprised.”_

“I . . . had reason to suspect he was alive, and if he appeared it might be in the company of Cerberus. Who were these humans with him?”

_“I only recognized one. That pale, dark-haired woman we saw on Binthu.”_

“Miranda Lawson.”

_“Yes. The other was a male, with dark brown skin and eyes.”_

I nodded. “That would be Jacob Taylor. I have a dossier on him. Things could be worse. Lawson is committed to Cerberus strategic objectives, her loyalty to the organization is solid, and she is personally cunning and manipulative, but she’s never been involved in atrocities. Taylor is a competent soldier with a strong code of honor, and he has likewise never been implicated in any of their worst actions.”

 _“Liara, what kind of game are you playing?”_ The quarian was openly angry now. _“You know what Cerberus is. You know what they have done. Including attacking the Migrant Fleet.”_

“Yes, I know. I find it interesting that these two specific operatives should appear at Shepard’s side, that’s all. It suggests that Cerberus may be trying to manipulate him. Present an appearance of honesty, to appeal to his moral judgment.”

 _“Maybe,”_ said Tali, relaxing a little. _“I did notice that the two of them were taking his orders. That Miranda woman wanted to take Veetor back to some Cerberus lab, and do who-knows-what to him. Shepard overruled her, let us take him home instead.”_

“Good,” I breathed. “That’s good. That sounds very much like him.”

 _“He’s changed in other ways, though.”_ She cocked her head at me. _“Liara, did you know he was a biotic?”_

 _That_ set me back. “ _What?_ Shepard is no biotic.”

_“You’re sure?”_

I made a wry face. “Tali, I have _very good reason_ to be sure about that. Before Alchera I spent many hours in intimate contact with him. If he was a biotic, I would know it.”

She had the good grace to look embarrassed. _“Yes, of course. Sorry. But he’s a biotic **now**.”_

“How is that possible?”

_“I don’t know. Quarian biotics are very rare; we don’t know anything about the discipline. But I saw it with my own eyes. Both of the Cerberus people were biotics. They threw telekinetic pulls and warps across the battlefield while they fought Veetor’s mechs. So did Shepard. I saw him making those control gestures, I saw the effect he had on the mechs. There’s no doubt in my mind about it.”_

I had to think hard about that.

_Cerberus has always been obsessed with the idea of finding ways to **produce** human biotics at will. Given how much they had to do to rebuild his body, his nervous system, he’s probably full of cybernetics and engineered tissues already. The temptation must have been overwhelming to introduce eezo into his system._

I found myself staring off into space, my hand to my lips, fighting down a surge of fear.

_Goddess. If they’ve changed that about him . . . what else might they have changed?_

_Is it still Shepard? Was it ever their plan to bring Shepard back? Or is this nothing but a convincing imitation, built to help Cerberus manipulate the human public? Built to help Cerberus manipulate those who knew him, those who loved him?_

_“Liara . . . I’m sorry if this disturbs you. I thought you should know.”_

I forced myself to look back at Tali, even to give her a small smile. “No, Tali. You’re right, I did need to know.”

_“What will you do now?”_

“I’ll try to contact him, certainly, but I don’t have much visibility into Cerberus at the moment.”

_“Surely he will come to see **you**. If it’s really him, and if he’s free to do that.”_

“I hope so. In the meantime, Tali, if you have any of Veetor’s observations or data about what happened on Freedom’s Progress . . .”

_“We have all of that. We already shared it with Shepard. I’d be happy to send you a copy.”_

“Thank you. Right now I have to go into the field. We think we know where the Collectors will attack next, and we need to learn as much as we can. My people and I are fully engaged with this threat. If you see Shepard again, or have any contact with him, tell him that. Tell him . . .”

_Tell him I miss him. Tell him I’ve been lonely without him. Tell him I still love him. Tell him I want to be fighting at his side once more . . . but oh Goddess I can’t do that I can’t get away I have obligations here I can’t ever be that unattached free-spirited partner for him again. It’s been too long. Too much has changed. How can we ever again be what we once were?_

I scrubbed angrily at the moisture on my cheeks.

 _“I understand,”_ said Tali compassionately. _“Be careful, Liara.”_

* * *

We gathered in the large conference room once more, equipment and weapons gathered, data loaded, all preparations complete. Ten of us, divided into two teams.

 _Alpha Team:_ Liara T’Soni (commanding), Yevgeni Stoletov and Vara T’Rathis (biotic and infiltration specialists), Arin’Tana nar Moreh (technical and cyberwarfare specialist), and Karel Atharias (combat and security specialist). We would crowd aboard _Themis_ and scout out what we believed to be the Collectors’ next target.

 _Beta Team:_ Quintus Trevanian (commanding), Juan Mendoza (biotic and infiltration specialist), Keetah’Varr nar Idenna and Caterina Mazzini (technical and cyberwarfare specialists), and Tonn Adanus (combat and security specialist). Some of the best personnel I had, even though most of them came from outside the firm’s inner circle. Quintus’s team would take a second ship, another armed cutter I had recently purchased and renamed _Benezia_.

We reviewed the situation. I left the Beta Team mission assignment for last.

“I have a very sensitive mission for your team, Quintus.” I opened my omni-tool and sent him an encrypted data file. “You are to proceed to the coordinates in this packet. I’m not entirely certain what you will find there. I _expect_ there will be a deep-space station operating as a scientific outpost. I’ve given you what I can about its layout and internal security systems.”

“What’s the significance of this facility?” asked Quintus.

“It is called _Lazarus Station_ , and it is owned and operated by the human organization called _Cerberus_.”

There was surprised silence around the table.

“Quintus, your specific objectives are in the sealed packet, but I want your entire team to understand the parameters of this mission. I _suspect_ something has gone wrong at Lazarus Station, that Cerberus is no longer in active control. If that’s so and you can verify it, then there are certain pieces of information I want you to acquire if you can. But you are not to risk being detected by Cerberus, and you are not to engage in combat unless there is no way to avoid it. If Cerberus is still actively occupying and using Lazarus Station, or if they appear while you are there, you are to _withdraw_. If possible, without them ever knowing you were present.”

Quintus nodded slowly. “I understand, Doctor.”

Yevgeni leaned forward. “Liara, how do you know all this about a Cerberus installation?”

“You don’t have need-to-know for that,” I said flatly.

His eyes opened wide. He was not accustomed to having me keep _him_ in the dark about anything.

“I _may_ be able to clear some of you for that information soon,” I told him. “Until then, I expect my orders to be obeyed regardless.”

“Of course, Doctor,” said Yevgeni. Quintus only nodded, glancing at the rest of his team to silently convey his own expectations.

“All right.” I looked around at my people, and let just a little of the pride I was feeling into my voice. “It has been a great privilege to work with all of you over the past two years. Together we have built a team I would confidently measure against any in the galaxy . . . and that _includes_ the team that Commander Shepard led against Saren Arterius and _Sovereign._ The Collectors may be raising the stakes, there may be more at risk now, but I have no doubt we will prove equal to the task. Go out there, get the job done, and come home safely. I want all of us to meet back here in a few days, with the information we need in hand.”

There was a chorus of affirmation, and everyone began to rise from the table.

Out in the hallway, there was a moment of crowding as ten people gathered all their equipment and moved toward the doors to the carport.

“Yevgeni!”

Aspasia was there, looking lovely and fearful at the same time.

Yevgeni glanced at me. I smiled and nodded back toward the conference room we had just vacated. The two of them slipped inside, while I stood guard at the doors and did my best to look forbidding. Thus I was the only one to see when Aspasia stepped close and melted into Yevgeni’s embrace, when they shared a lingering kiss.

“Come back to me,” she whispered.

He smiled gently and caressed her cheek. “Always, _milaya_.”

Then they emerged, Yevgeni and I setting out last of all for the carport, and Aspasia remained behind to watch us go.

* * *

**_16 July 2185, Blue Ridge Hills/Ferris Fields_ **

Ferris Fields seemed an old, tired world.

The primary, Columbia, was a quiet little K5V star, cool and stable, well over five billion years old. The system drifted in the Hephaistos Verge, an isolated cluster on the outermost fringes of the Sagittarius Arm, almost seventy-five thousand light-years from Earth. The system as a whole was metal-poor, short on iron, almost completely lacking in platinum-group or rare-earth elements, a terrible place to set up any kind of heavy industry. Fortunately the human colonists had no interest in an industrial base. For their needs Ferris Fields, the third planet in the system and the only habitable world, was more than sufficient.

The planet itself was somewhat smaller and lighter than Earth. It was geologically almost dead; there had been no significant volcanic activity for at least a billion years, and the entire planetary surface had become locked up in a single thick crustal plate. Shallow oceans covered most of the planet’s surface, with very large ice caps in the higher latitudes. Erosion had long since worn the last mountain ranges down to gentle hills. The air felt thin, like on a high mountain plateau on Earth or Thessia, but over the years the human colonists had grown accustomed to it.

The first settlers had selected a landing site on a coastal plain near the equator: warm and pleasant climate, with plenty of rain but few violent storms, as if the very atmosphere felt too weary to become enraged any longer. They cleared away the native vegetation, did a little soil engineering, and soon found that Earth-born crops and farm animals could thrive. Less than twenty years later, they and their children enjoyed a quiet, free, happy agrarian life.

The colony looked very peaceful in the early morning light as we flew down from space. It seemed like the perfect place to pull the blankets up over one’s ears, and pretend the rest of the galaxy had stopped existing. The moment I saw it, I prayed fervently that we had been wrong, that the Collectors had no interest in the place.

“I’m picking up active sensors,” said Karel, who piloted _Themis_ for our final approach.

I leaned over from the co-pilot’s seat to look at his console. “Odd. Our information on this place says the colony has almost no high-energy infrastructure. What are they doing with an active radar installation?”

“It’s not very powerful,” said the turian. “I don’t think they’ve picked us up yet.”

“We don’t want them to know we’re here, at least not yet. Come in low to the ground and put us down at a distance . . . what about those hills about twenty kilometers south of the colony?”

Karel nodded. “That should work. Close enough for us to keep watch with our drones and long-range sensors, but there’s no direct line of sight, and it’s far enough away that they aren’t likely to stumble over us.”

Yevgeni nodded from his place in the corridor behind us. “Looks as if the native vegetation is still dominant that far out. Nobody’s working those hills yet.”

“Aha!” exclaimed Karel, glancing at a side window on his console. “I think I know where the radar came from. It matches an Alliance Navy signature.”

“Hmm.” I pulled up a control panel and began preparing a sensor drone for launch. “As soon as we’re down, I think I’m going to have a look at the spaceport.”

Within a few minutes, Karel had set us down in a clearing in the forested hills, and I could begin launching our drones. It turned out that Ferris Fields didn’t _have_ much of a spaceport, just a frontier facility, a paved open space with a few pre-fab buildings for cargo handling and maintenance services. Images from the drones told me that there was only one ship in port: an Alliance corvette, resting to one side of the landing field.

“SSV _Audie Murphy_ ,” said Yevgeni, examining the images closely. “ _Warrior_ -class. Crew of about a dozen, usually detailed for survey or escort duty. Wonder what he is doing here?”

“I _did_ share our list of potential Collector targets with Councilor Anderson,” I said. “He didn’t seem confident that the Alliance could reinforce these colonies on a large scale, but perhaps they were able to send token support to some of them.”

“Hope that doesn’t just throw a few more humans onto the menu for the Collectors,” Yevgeni muttered.

I checked my sensor panel. “Drones are in place. Sensors are active and recording. Karel?”

“Stealth systems are engaged, and we’re well concealed from anything but a direct overflight,” reported the turian.

“I’ve tapped into the colony’s comms net,” said Arin from his workstation in the engineering compartment. “There’s a lot of ordinary chatter, although I have heard one or two Alliance personnel in the mix. I think you’re right, Doctor T’Soni, they’re here to reach out to the colonists and provide early warning of any attack.”

“Shouldn’t we contact the Alliance officer in charge and let him know we’re here?” asked Vara.

“Not yet,” I told her. “We stay silent.”

* * *

We waited.

By the best estimate Nyxeris and Tana could provide, there was a thirty-two percent chance that the Collectors would strike at Ferris Fields next, sometime on 16 or 17 July by the human calendar. It was by far the highest probability for any of the remaining worlds on Tana’s original list . . . but it still wasn’t quite a one-in-three chance. The odds said that the Collectors would strike elsewhere. Possibly the presence of the Alliance corvette made an attack even less likely.

We would wait until the Collectors appeared, the Nos Astra office told us they had attacked elsewhere, or there was a ninety-five percent probability that their normal window had expired. Then we would re-think.

Unfortunately, I began to have a very difficult time waiting with patience.

_How are Quintus and his team doing?_

I sat in my tiny cabin, trying to catch up on the reports coming out of Analysis. I caught myself reading the same paragraph three times and still not knowing what it said.

_What if the Collectors come and see through all our countermeasures?_

I turned off the console, got up, and began to pace. Unfortunately my cabin was only two steps across.

_Where are you, Shepard? What are you doing with Cerberus? Why haven’t you tried to contact me?_

Finally I put on my hardsuit, except for the helmet. I stalked down the main corridor to the airlock, helmet in one hand and sidearm at my hip, and began to cycle through.

_Goddess, Shepard, I’m no use as a military commander. How did you always manage to make this look so easy?_

“Where are you going, _despoina?_ ” asked Vara.

“I need some air,” I told her. “I won’t go far.”

“You won’t go _anywhere_ without me,” she said seriously.

For a moment I considered resistance, but then I gave in.

 _She is your one and only acolyte_. _It’s her **job** to attend you, whenever you choose to go into potential danger._

Vara leaped into action the moment I gave her a curt nod. Within moments, she was in her hardsuit as well, armed and ready to go. We cycled through the airlock together.

The air outside felt just warm enough to be pleasant, laden with exotic scents from the vegetation all around us. Although every plant I saw was strange, the overall effect was utterly familiar. _Forest:_ the final result of any evolutionary contest among large rooted photosynthetic organisms, each competing for its own place in the sun.

A few minutes of deep breathing, enjoying the fresh air and sunshine, and I found myself feeling much better. “Which way is the colony?”

Vara glanced around, comparing the position of the sun and the layout of the land to a map in her head. “That way,” she said, pointing.

“Let’s see if we can get a better vantage point,” I suggested. “There’s a rock outcropping over there that we might be able to climb.”

Vara spoke softly into her suit radio, reporting to Karel, who was on watch inside the ship. Then she nodded in agreement. “It doesn’t look too far. Let’s go.”

We hiked. Our boots rustled through the leaves and humus of the forest floor, and we heard the buzz of insect-like life forms to all sides. Once we heard the weird hooting of some larger animal in the distance. Then the roughness of granite under my fingers, the effort of climbing to the top of a great stone. I found myself breathing deeply, never quite getting enough oxygen as I exerted myself in the thin air. Vara seemed completely unruffled, of course, but she was a true athlete. I envied her sheer physical competence.

Finally we stood atop the outcropping, looking out across a great expanse, down the gentle hills toward the coastal plain and the distant sea. We could just barely see the colony in the distance, circular fields in colors subtly different from those of the native life, a scatter of pre-fab houses and buildings in the center. We could see a hint of movement among the fields and the streets, distant humans going about their business, all unaware of the threat that might be hanging over everyone.

“I wonder if this planet ever gave rise to its own sentient life,” I said at last.

“I suppose it’s possible, _despoina_ ,” said Vara. “This is an old world. The survey report said it’s probably had a complex ecosphere for almost two billion years. That’s a long time for any world to stay completely quiet.”

“Maybe some other civilization came here once. Built a colony, farms, towns, great cities. Created art, music, literature, insightful science and deep philosophy. Made this a busy, talkative place.” I looked up into the sky. “Then the Reapers came.”

Vara frowned.

“The Reapers _always_ come in the end, Vara. How can we fight that?”

“Are you having a crisis of confidence, Liara?”

“I suppose.” I sighed, turned to face her. “I wouldn’t admit this to almost anyone else in the firm . . . not even Aspasia. She’s an old friend and I would trust her with my life, but she expects me to somehow have all the answers. Goddess help us, _you_ swore yourself to my service. So that makes you my confidante.”

She held my gaze without wavering, her expression completely sober. “I’m honored, _despoina_.”

“Vara, I have _no idea_ how we’re going to do this. We’ve accomplished a lot in the last two years, but that list of accomplishments does not extend to convincing any of the major powers to take the Reapers seriously. The galaxy is barely any more ready than it was when we started.”

She shrugged. “The galaxy has a great deal of inertia. We may need to push hard for a very long time before it gets moving.”

I laughed at the image that gave me. “Like trying to move this rock we’re standing on with our bare hands.”

“Something like that.” Vara smiled and raised a clenched fist, blue-black energy suddenly snapping into existence around it. “Of course, _some_ of us have a certain amount of control over mass.”

“True.” I sighed and looked around at the landscape. “There’s an ancient human philosopher Shepard once told me about. A man named Archimedes. He said: _give me a lever and a place to stand, and I will move the world_. Perhaps I just need to find the right place to stand.”

She was silent for a long time, and then she said in a low tone, “Liara . . . I envy your Commander Shepard.”

Startled, I looked back at her.

Vara stared at me, her silver eyes somehow huge against the blue of her face, so close to the color of the sky over our heads. She took a deep breath, and then seemed to reach some decision.

“Liara, I never met Shepard, but I’ve heard a great deal about him, from you and from others. He was one of those truly great individuals that come along so seldom. Someone who could stand against chaos, hold it at bay, brace himself, and then _push_ the entire universe onto a new track by sheer force of will. It’s a rare and wonderful gift.” She stepped closer, raising a gentle hand to touch my cheek. “Rare and wonderful . . . but you have it too. Don’t sell yourself short. With you leading us, _we will succeed_.”

“Vara . . .”

She leaned forward, a graceful and perfectly controlled movement, and kissed me.

My heart skipped. An electric shock slammed down my spine. My right hand clenched into a fist, trying to hold my reaction firmly in check.

A roll of thunder, falling from the sky.

I broke away from Vara, whirling so fast I nearly lost my footing atop our rock. She had to seize my arm to restore my balance, but I barely noticed. I was too busy staring into the heavens.

Something vast and dark descended from far above, blotting out the sun, like deep night pouring into the midst of a clear day.

The Collectors had arrived.


	32. Incandescence

**_16 July 2185, Blue Ridge Hills/Ferris Fields_ **

Vara and I stared up into the sky for an eternal moment. Then a sudden realization made me shout, “Helmets! We’ve got to seal up!”

I grabbed for the helmet hanging from my belt and raised it to my head, pulling it over my crest and locking it into place. I silently thanked Shepard and Kaidan for long hours of suit drill, as the seal slid smoothly closed despite my shaking hands. Cool, fresh air washed across my face as the suit’s closed-cycle system activated. A quick glance at my omni-tool told me that Arin’s ECM software was up and running. I watched Vara as she did the same.

We had sealed suits and stealth almost up to quarian standards. It remained to be seen whether that, and the fact that we weren’t human, would be enough to fool the Collectors’ sensors.

“Back to the ship,” I commanded, turning to find a way down from our vantage point.

“Liara . . .”

I glanced at her face through the visor of her helmet, and saw her still struggling with her emotions: pride, fear, something else I was reluctant to identify. I shook my head. “We’ll talk about it later. _Back to the ship._ ”

“. . . Yes, _despoina_.”

Climbing down would take too long. It was only about ten meters. I jumped, my corona flaring all around my body as I made most of my mass go away. I had become more skilled at such maneuvers; my knees barely felt the shock as I reached the ground.

Vara touched down right beside me, for once not quite as graceful as usual.

We ran for _Themis_.

The sky grew dark even overhead as we approached the ship. I glanced up, half-expecting to see an immense swarm of tiny robots descending on us, but I saw only a thickening array of clouds, some effect of the Collector vessel causing them to gather and swirl. A crawling sensation oiled across the back of my skull and down my spine . . . an enormous mass-effect field subtly distorting the laws of nature, in ways I could feel with my biotics even twenty kilometers away. From behind us came a deep rumbling sound, as much felt through the ground beneath our boots as heard.

“Do you feel that?” asked Vara, only a little breathless with our speed.

“Yes. The Collector ship must have landed.”

We reached the airlock, no sign of pursuit behind us. As soon as we had climbed inside and sealed up, I immediately removed my helmet again and made for Arin’s workspace in the engineering compartment.

“What do you have, Arin?”

“No sign that they’ve detected us,” said the quarian, staring intently at a set of five holographic windows. “I also got a crystal-clear set of readings on their ship’s drive emissions and energy signature as it came in. I think you should have a look at that.”

My omni-tool chirped, and I opened it to see _two_ multi-spectral diagrams laid out side by side. The two looked . . . _very_ similar. “What am I seeing here?”

“The diagram on the left is what we saw from the Collector ship about five minutes ago. You’ll notice that it’s almost identical to the one on the right.”

I nodded.

“Take it from a quarian, Doctor. These two profiles are from the same class of ship. Same model of engines, same model of mass effect core, everything. They may even be from the _same_ ship.”

“I’ll stipulate that. So what is this profile on the right?”

“Those are sensor readings taken on board _Normandy_ ,” he said gravely, “minutes before it was destroyed.”

My head snapped up to stare at him. He had turned to watch my reaction, and now he nodded in confirmation.

“I thought the profile looked familiar, so I went digging. It’s a match, Doctor. I’d be confident putting that in front of any technical review board in the galaxy.”

“The Collectors destroyed the _Normandy_.”

“So it would seem.”

* * *

Thirty-five minutes since the Collectors arrived. The aliens erected a vast field dome over the doomed colony, sealing the humans in with their _seeker swarms_ to be located and harvested. Outside the dome all seemed deceptively quiet, although our sensors picked up Collector squads tracking down stragglers among the outlying fields and installations. Even this activity tapered off a few kilometers from the edge of the dome. In the Blue Ridge Hills where we lay in concealment, all stayed quiet.

Arin and I had a number of sensor drones and comm-net taps inside the Collectors field, and most of them remained active and transmitting. We used every technique at our disposal to conceal ourselves from the foe – laser-beam links, random-walk burst transmission, three layers of encryption – and thus far it seemed to be working. We gathered terabytes of information, with no apparent response from the Collectors.

Yevgeni was slowly going insane.

Arin and I had the technical side of the mission under control. Karel sat in the pilot’s chair, watchfully ready to get us away the moment the Collectors noticed our presence. Vara sat quietly in her cabin, obsessively maintaining her weapons and gear, keeping her thoughts and emotions to herself. For the moment Yevgeni had nothing to do but listen to radio chatter from the colony. Nothing to do but listen to forty thousand humans as they fled in panic, screamed in terror, and then went silent under the Collector weapon.

“Liara, we’ve got to do something,” he said at last.

“There’s nothing we can do,” I told him, adjusting filtering algorithms on the download stream from our sensor drones.

He made an inarticulate noise of anger and disgust.

I looked over at him where he sat on a crate in the corner of our work area, pulling in audio data with his omni-tool and helmet radio. “Yevgeni, we have no assessment of the enemy’s weapons or defense technologies, except that they are clearly far beyond ours. We are outnumbered hundreds to one. If the Collectors discover our presence, they will destroy us with minimal effort. _There is nothing we can do_. Nothing but gather the intelligence that will help prevent any more humans from being taken.”

“I know.” He shook his head violently, like a beast bedeviled by insects. “It’s hard to listen to this.”

“Then don’t listen,” I suggested.

“You’re awfully damn cold about it. What if that was an _asari_ community out there?”

“It wouldn’t change the math,” I said flatly, deliberately turning my back on him rather than lash out. “If I thought we could save some of them, even _one_ of them, without compromising our mission . . . but we can’t. You know it as well as I do.”

“But . . .”

“ _Enough_ , Yevgeni!” I gave him a hostile stare over my shoulder. “All of us feel it. If we didn’t care about what was happening to humans we would not be here at all!”

He stared at me for a moment, startled into silence. Then he took a deep breath and nodded. “Sorry.”

“I understand.” I turned back to my console. “This is hard for all of us.”

* * *

“ _Keelah_ ,” breathed Arin.

His voice was so quiet, so freighted with surprise and awe, that it pulled my attention away from my own tasks. “What is it, Arin?”

He sat _surrounded_ by holographic windows, his omni-tool alive with light as well, and he was attending to _all_ of them. I had rarely seen such a display of multi-tasking. Then I noticed three of his windows, filled with data in a script I had never seen before.

“I . . . think I’ve tapped into the _Collector_ network.”

I rose from my own workstation, my sensor data forgotten. “How?”

He spoke with only a small slice of his attention, still staring at his windows and working with both hands. “It looks as if the Collectors have installed their own connections into the colony’s network. They’re downloading as much data from there as they can access, but it works both ways. I went to investigate this network partition I didn’t expect to see on the Ferris Fields grid, and blundered into what looks like an outer zone of the Collector network. If it were on one of our information grids, I would call it a DMZ.”

I stepped over to stand behind him, excitement making me crowd close. “Arin, if they’re _deliberately_ downloading data from the Ferris Fields network . . .”

“Then I might be able to insert a malware implant or two into their download stream,” he agreed. “I have no idea if any of our malware would even _work_ on Collector systems, but it’s worth a try.”

“Karel,” I called. “Arin is doing something that might be very risky. Be on the lookout. If the Collector ship so much as makes an energy spike, I want us in the air and climbing for space.”

“Understood,” said the turian from his station on the bridge.

Suddenly Yevgeni straightened up, his head cocked to one side, listening intently. After a moment he waved for my attention. “Doctor, I think you should hear this.”

I linked my comm to his, and heard human voices.

The first voice, male, breathless with exertion or fear: “. . . _don’t know what these aliens are. Never saw them before. But they’re taking everyone onto their ship. The little bugs sting you, paralyze you, then the big aliens come.”_

Then a second voice, also male, full of tension: “ _I’m coming to get you._ ”

“ _Don’t you dare. They’re everywhere. You’d just get taken too._ ”

“What is this, Yevgeni?” I asked quietly.

“I picked up a transmission originating just outside the Collector field,” the spy reported calmly. “Whoever it is must have avoided the seeker swarms somehow, gotten away for a moment. Then he made a call to another comm node . . . and _that_ one is barely two kilometers from here.”

I nodded. “We did see some kind of field installation on the edge of the cultivated land. A control point for robotic farm equipment, perhaps. Was someone working there when the Collectors arrived?”

“ _I can’t just sit here, doing nothing_.”

“ _You can stay with me! I don’t have long. They’re bound to notice that I got out._ ”

“ _Run, get out of there! You can make it!_ ”

I could feel my jaw muscles clenching. I _knew_ what we would hear in a few moments.

The first voice went suddenly flat with resignation. “ _No, I can’t, Steve. But you can. Promise me._ ”

A moment of near-silence, no sound but hoarse, rasping breath on the line.

“ _I love you, but I **know** you. Don’t make me an anchor. Promise me, Steve._ ”

The second voice spoke again, laden with anguish. “ _No. **Don’t**._ ”

“ _. . . They’re here. Goodbye, Steve._ ”

“ _Robert!_ ”

“Goddess,” I whispered.

“The one called _Steve_ is still out there. It’s only two klicks. I could take a sled and be there and back in less than five minutes,” said Yevgeni calmly.

“And if you encounter Collectors, homing on his comm channel?”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.” He reached out and took me by the shoulders. “Liara, I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I know you care about what’s happening. Let me do this, let me save this one life.”

I reached a decision. “No.”

For a moment, Yevgeni’s face filled with a terrible rage and his hands tightened on my shoulders. Then he went utterly calm, his spirit masking itself behind empty eyes. “Very well.”

“You misunderstand, Yevgeni.” I poked him in the chest with one finger. “ _You_ are going to take Karel’s place in the cockpit. _You_ are going to watch the sensor feeds from the Collector ship. If _you_ see it about to act, then you will _run_. Get Arin and all of our data to safety, back to Illium, whether we are on board or not.”

His eyes widened. “You . . .”

I shrugged off his hands. “Vara, Karel, and I will take the sleds and go find this Steve. _We’re not humans_ , Yevgeni. If the Collectors can see through our stealth and ECM, they may not be quite so interested in two asari and a turian.”

“I see.”

“Do you understand my _orders_ , Yevgeni?”

He stood tall and straight, and for the first time since I had known him, he gave me a crisp Alliance salute. I was suddenly reminded that he had been a Marine, had even participated in the same Special Forces program in which Shepard had excelled. “I understand you very well, Doctor. And thank you.”

I gave him a quick nod, and went to collect the rest of my team.

* * *

It didn’t take long for us to break out the two-man grav sleds. Vara piloted one with me in the side seat, while Karel drove the other one alone, hoping to carry our stray human back to _Themis_.

The sleds were flimsy and unarmed, not all that fast compared to the ship, but they could cover a hundred kilometers per hour without difficulty. Once we were in the air it was a matter of moments before we reached the position where we expected to find _Steve_.

At first we didn’t see him. We found three small buildings and a clutter of equipment, and on close approach I spotted a toolkit, left open and abandoned on the ground.

“There!” came Karel’s voice over the comm. His sled banked to our left and crossed low above a grain-field. Vara turned to follow.

We found him, a single human trudging through the tall golden grass, leaving a trail of bent and broken stalks behind him. He walked on a heading straight for the colony and the Collectors, barely looking up as we landed just ahead of him. As I approached on foot, I saw a male human of average height, his skin a rich brown color, his features rather blunt and heavy, his eyes a startling blue that wouldn’t have looked out of place in an asari face. He wore an Alliance undress uniform with lieutenant’s bars, and carried nothing but a standard-issue sidearm.

With us converging on him, he finally stopped and raised a tear-streaked face to frown at us. “Who . . .”

“I’m Liara T’Soni,” I told him. “These are members of my team, Vara T’Rathis and Karel Atharias. We caught your radio transmission. We’re here to evacuate you to safety.”

The human blinked. “Lieutenant Steven Cortez, Alliance Navy. Liara . . . _T’Soni?_ I think I’ve heard of you.”

“Lieutenant, we’re not safe here.”

“ _Liara, you had better get back here on the double,_ ” came Yevgeni’s voice over the radio. “ _Collector signatures moving in on your position_.”

I raised a hand to my helmet and used the other to draw my Shuriken. Vara and Karel immediately drew their own weapons. “How long, Yevgeni?”

“ _They’re fast. No more than a minute._ ”

I glanced around. I saw no way for us to return to the sleds, remount, and get back to the ship in time. “Then we’re going to have to make a stand here. We’ll be in contact. _Remember your orders._ ”

“Cover over here,” said Karel, pointing to a low stone wall and a grove of trees on its other side.

“Come on!” I took Cortez by one arm and pulled him along. A glance at his face reassured me that he would be more than dead weight in a fight. His eyes had stopped streaming, and an expression of grim anger took shape as he thought about fighting the Collectors.

We reached the stone wall just in time, Cortez and I vaulting over it and crouching down in its cover while Vara and Karel prepared their fields of fire. Then a squad of five Collectors buzzed through the air, flying on insect-like wings and landing in the grain-field we had just abandoned. They immediately began to advance by odds-and-evens, crossing the field toward our position, firing at us with some kind of golden-colored particle beams.

Something about the Collector weapons teased at my memory, and then I had it: they resembled the great plasma cannon that had carved the _Normandy_ into broken debris. I felt my lips pull back from my teeth in a snarl as I remembered: _creatures like these killed Shepard_. Then I had no more time to think. Karel coordinated our fire on one of the lead Collectors. Even Cortez risked popping out of cover to fire a few shots. The Collector’s shields went down, and Vara threw a biotic pull at it, just in time for me to detonate her field with my own warp.

 _Wham._ Chunks and gobbets of alien flesh exploded across the battleground.

“What are you doing on Ferris Fields?” asked Cortez as we fought, shouting to be heard over the roar of gunfire.

“We’re on a reconnaissance mission,” I answered, throwing a biotic field to yank a Collector into the air. Vara and Karel focused their fire on the helpless alien, and it collapsed in a spray of fluids. “Trying to find out what’s happening to human colonies.”

Three more Collectors landed in the back of the enemy formation, and began to press forward with their colleagues.

“I guess you have your answers,” said Cortez, popping out once more to fire at the enemy.

“Some of them.” I used my Shuriken to hammer at another Collector soldier, grinding its shields down until Vara could knock it flat with a biotic throw. “One way or the other, I think we’re done gathering data.”

We heard a soft but horrible sound, like air escaping under pressure from the lungs of a corpse.

“Goddess! _Husks!_ ” shouted Vara.

I felt a surge of terror. I _hated_ husks. “Don’t let them get too close!” I ordered. “They’ll tear you apart!”

A half-dozen of the things sprinted across the field, trampling the tall grass in their charge. They seemed _faster_ than the husks I remembered from our war against Saren, moving in a quick zig-zag pattern that made them hard to target. Behind them the Collectors advanced more deliberately, firing on any of us who exposed ourselves. Yet we _had_ to expose ourselves, firing on the husks, otherwise in seconds they would be ready to vault over our stone wall and slaughter us.

“Vara, get ready for a warp,” I shouted, and threw a _singularity_ into the path of the monsters. Four of them were caught up in the swirling vortex of force. “ _Now!_ ”

Vara dropped her warp into the midst of the singularity, just as I tackled Cortez bodily to the ground.

_BOOM!_

I raised my head to see that the tactic had worked.

In a circle many meters across, the grain lay flat, the stalks pointing in all directions away from where my singularity had hovered. In all that space, no husks remained. We had missed only one, and Karel tore that one to shreds with assault-rifle fire. The Collectors paused for a moment, perhaps startled by the sudden eruption of force.

“ _Hit them!_ ” I shrieked.

We rose and fired almost as one, and the Collectors began to wither under our attack.

_Goddess, we may just be able to win this._

Then something _huge_ rose up out of the trampled grain, black, twisted and dreadful. It looked like a deformed husk, standing on two legs, its skull-like head twisted to one side, one arm dangling useless beneath its body. On its back and shoulders rested an enormous mass of cancerous tissue, glowing with strange energies . . . and its other arm had been replaced by a massive _gun_.

“ _Spirits,_ ” said Karel, rising slightly out of cover for a moment to take in the horrible sight. “What _is_ that?”

It turned slightly, pointed its gun at him, and _fired_.

A string of eruptions tore through the air, like the most powerful biotic shockwave I had ever seen, and scored a direct hit on the turian.

Had he stayed in cover, he might have lived. The sight of the new foe distracted him for just a moment too long. The force caught him almost center-of-mass, blasting his kinetic barriers into oblivion and tearing him nearly in half. He flew backward, releasing his last strangled scream, and slammed into a tree.

The monster _groaned_ , like the spirits of the damned, and began to shamble forward. Behind it, the remaining Collector soldiers rallied and resumed their advance.

Vara recovered first. She flung her strongest warp at the creature, and then began to follow up with a steady stream of gunfire. I almost screamed at her to _get down_ , but then I saw how slowly the gun-monster reacted. That mass of excess tissues, the weight of the weapon, all of it slowed the creature down.

“Stay down,” I told Cortez. “You’ve got no armor, no shields. Even a near-miss would probably kill you.”

Then I moved along the wall, away from Vara and Cortez, trying to open the angle between us. Once I was as far down as I could manage, I popped up, threw my own warp, and then added my gunfire to Vara’s.

As I suspected, it had a difficult time selecting its targets. It shambled forward, turned to bring its gun to bear on Vara, _fired_ . . . but she had seen the move in plenty of time. Huddling down behind the stone wall, she avoided the bulk of the weapon’s force. Her barriers flickered but stayed up, and as I fired on the creature to attract its attention, she emerged and resumed her attack. Its next discharge came in my direction, but we understood its timing now, and we could use the wall to protect ourselves.

Bit by bit, we wore down the creature’s thick carapace, stripping it away to get at the living flesh beneath. It loomed twenty meters away, fifteen, ten. Then it staggered, twisted awkwardly, and went down. A high-energy discharge erupted from the lump of flesh on its back, consuming its tissues in moments and leaving nothing but ashes behind. For a moment we could breathe.

“ _Liara. Liara!_ ”

“What is it, Yevgeni?” I demanded, still looking around for the next attack.

“ _What’s happening?_ ”

“We’ve reached the human survivor, but we have come under heavy attack by Collector forces,” I told him. “Karel is dead, but so far Vara and I are all right. _Stay where you are_.”

“The Collectors seem to have fallen back,” said Vara. “Do you think we can make a break for it?”

I shook my head, listening to my instincts. “I think we had better wait. There’s got to be more on the way.”

Cortez had crawled over to Karel’s body, recovering his assault rifle and barrier generator. Now he returned to us. “In case I don’t get a chance to say it later . . . thanks for coming for me.”

“You didn’t look like you wanted rescuing,” Vara snarled. “Maybe we shouldn’t have bothered.”

The human hung his head. “Sorry. I’m sorry about your friend. I just lost someone too.”

I rested a hand on his shoulder. “I understand. Robert?”

“My husband,” he explained quietly.

The anger drained out of Vara’s face, and she reached out to touch Cortez for a moment as well. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“Let’s just make sure the rest of us get out of this alive,” I told them. I rose slightly out of cover, scanned the area for signs of Collectors, still saw nothing. “Yevgeni, what do the sensors say?”

“ _Something’s coming,”_ he responded _._ “ _One sensor return, moving toward you from the direction of the colony, and it’s **big**_.”

“I still don’t see . . .”

One moment it seemed only a black speck against the distant sky. The next it stooped upon us.

My brain simply refused to process the image at first. It had a turret-like structure like a Collector’s head, broad and flat, with four blue-glowing eyes tucked beneath its frontal ridge, but _huge_ , many times the size of a normal Collector’s skull. Beneath the head I saw almost no body, nothing but a half-mechanical structure like the thorax of a great insect, and jointed legs tucked under it as it flew.

It slammed to the ground about thirty meters away, opening a great maw as its legs took up the shock of landing, and I suddenly felt the urge to vomit. Inside the thing I could see husks, once-human heads piled together like cordwood, obviously socketed into the creature’s mechanisms. Their empty eyes stared, their mouths opened in silent screams, and I could somehow tell _they remained aware_.

“I don’t know what that thing is, but _let’s shoot it!_ ” shouted Cortez.

_That seems like a very good idea._

I dove to one side, screaming in revolted rage, and opened fire.

Goddess, it was tough. It disdained any cover, simply rising into the air and hovering where we could pour all our fire into it . . . and none of it seemed to have any effect. It snapped its maw closed, protecting its internal mechanisms, and then our gunfire simply poured off its carapace.

Then its eyes glowed with blue light, and intensely hot beams of plasma rained down upon us.

Vara took a near-miss, losing her kinetic barriers for a moment and screaming in pain as the plasma blasted away armor across her right shoulder and upper arm. Then she rolled away, slapping the medi-gel tab on her hardsuit.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw more Collectors arrive.

The floating creature turned in my direction. I barely put up a barrier in time as I dove to one side. I realized that it had risen _above_ our stone wall, and could fire down on us directly from its position. We had lost our cover. It was too strong, too resistant to our hand weapons. If we had any heavy armament . . . but we didn’t.

“Retreat!” I shouted. “Back into the trees!”

Cortez backed away, still firing, and then slipped behind a thick tree-trunk as the plasma beams swung in his direction, deftly keeping the barriers he had taken from Karel intact.

The momentary distraction enabled me to pull away as well, abandoning the wall, fleeing into the woods. I realized that we were leaving the grav sleds behind, that we had almost two kilometers of open ground to cross to reach _Themis_.

Plasma snarled and crackled above us, and then the treetops caught fire.

 _Shepard_.

We stumbled through the forest, fleeing the Collectors and the flames, Cortez beginning to cough from the smoke. Once in a while one of us would take a position behind a tree and fire back at the Collectors, encouraging them to be cautious . . . but it never lasted. Always the flying _thing_ would press down upon us, spreading fire and destruction, and we would have to run once more.

 _I’m sorry, Shepard. I’ve made a mess of this_.

Ahead of us I saw a gentle slope, and light between the trees. We were about to run out of cover. Of course, the cover itself had erupted into flames.

We stumbled to the edge of the forested ground and stopped. There we saw the flying thing, hovering fifty meters ahead of us, cutting off our escape. Behind us we heard the Collectors preparing for their final charge.

 _Nothing left to do but die well, Shepard. Goodbye_.

I checked my Shuriken and called up every last erg of my biotic power, suddenly blazing with a corona of white light.

Then the flying creature _exploded_ in a tremendous discharge of dark energy.

 _Themis_ rose above the line of the hills. Her cannon fired once more, ultra-velocity projectiles slamming into the forest behind us, throwing the Collectors into disarray.

The starship swung wide, settling almost to the ground, and the main airlock slammed open. Yevgeni leaped to the ground, in full battle armor except for his helmet, blazing away with his sidearm and hurling a biotic warp into the burning chaos behind us.

“Arin’s got the controls, we’re ready to fly!” he shouted. “Come on, _come on!_ ”

I spun in place, hugging a tree and turning to lay down a pattern of fire behind us. “Vara, covering fire! Cortez, get aboard!”

Cortez sprinted for the airlock as Vara joined me in discouraging the Collectors.

Then another of those damnable gun-monsters loomed up in the forest. Force erupted out of the smoke, seeming only to grow as it hurtled between the trees. I had only a moment to realize _if there’s no lateral movement then **you are the target**_ and snap a barrier into place. Then I went deaf and blind, flying through the air in a cloud of wood-splinters, finally slamming into something _hard_ in an explosion of terrible pain.

I stirred. I could barely breathe. I could taste blood, feel it running down from the corner of my mouth. The pain felt absolute and inescapable, like gravity.

Then Vara appeared, blue light flaring around her shoulders and arms as she lifted me. I tried to scream with pain as something ground together in my chest, but I couldn’t put any force behind the sound.

She stumbled toward _Themis_ , my dead weight across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry.

Too much. My body betrayed me. My mind spiraled down into darkness.

* * *

_**1** _ **_6 July 2185, Interstellar Space_ **

I awoke in the tiny medical bay aboard _Themis_. My mouth felt dry as a desert, my eyes full of sand, but the incredible pain had been reduced to the level of a dull ache in my chest. I gave thanks.

“Liara?”

With a supreme effort, I managed to open my eyes. I saw a blue blur at my side. “ _Mmh_.”

“Thank the Goddess.” Vara’s voice. “Don’t move, _despoina_. You’ve got internal injuries and I’ve just barely been able to stabilize your condition. We’re on our way back to Illium.”

I groaned, worked my mouth. After careful consideration I thought I might be able to produce a coherent sentence. “What . . . status?”

I couldn’t see the misery on her face, but I could hear it in her voice.

“We lost Yevgeni.”

I closed my eyes again, rolled my head away from her as if to escape the words. “How?” I whispered.

“It was just after I got you through the airlock. He was the last one out there, maintaining covering fire, keeping the Collectors at bay. One of them must have had a sniper rifle, or whatever they use for that function. Caught him with a head-shot.” She sighed. “He was in such a hurry. He hadn’t put on his helmet.”

I rolled my head slightly from side to side, in denial of the images that spread across my mind.

“It was over instantly,” said Vara. “I doubt he even knew.”

“Cortez?”

“He’s not badly hurt. Locked himself in the spare cabin, though. I don’t think he wants to face any of us.”

I opened my eyes, forced myself to focus on her face. “Vara . . .”

She shook her head. “I know, _despoina_. I’m not angry at him anymore. None of us have said anything to him, but that man has got to have the galaxy’s worst case of survivor guilt right now.”

“He’s not the only one,” I whispered.

_Goddess. Aspasia._


	33. Reverberation

**_18 July 2185, Asterion Starport, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

_Themis_ landed, a medical team rushing through the airlock the moment the ship had finished docking procedures. They emerged a few minutes later, with me on a mobile support bed between them. Vara appeared a moment later, in a powered chair to take the strain off her burned arm and wounded leg. Arin and Cortez came last, on their own feet, unwounded but still grim with loss.

“Stop a moment,” I said, fighting through the anesthetics. I stretched out a hand.

Aspasia had brought the medical team to meet us, but now she stood alone and forlorn in the gangway, dressed for once in a drab and conventional gown, all lightness of spirit gone. She took my hand, and I could see unshed tears and deep fatigue in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I told her.

“Vara told me what happened,” she said calmly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

I shook my head, forcing my brain to work. “No. Collectors’ fault . . . but my _responsibility_. Tried to keep him safe. Failed. Not lucky enough, not fast enough, not _smart_ enough. Bad decisions. I’m sorry.”

“Liara . . . was it worth it?”

I wanted to take a deep breath, but I had already learned that would be a _very_ bad idea. “Learned a great deal. Even from the battle. Rescued a human from the Collectors. First of many, we can hope. Worth it? Can’t say. Doesn’t matter. Yevgeni died a hero. Saved us all.”

She nodded, squeezed my hand, and then let go. The medics whisked me away.

* * *

**_18 July 2185, Hylike General Medical Facility, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

I insisted on checking myself out of the hospital as soon as I emerged from surgical recovery. My doctors were _not_ happy with me. They attached a very expensive medical monitor to my upper torso, made me sign a sheaf of waivers, and gave me a series of grim lectures . . . but in the end they had no choice but to let me go. I could afford more attorneys than they could.

Quintus helped. He arrived while I was in surgery, and posted himself as my bodyguard the moment I went to recovery, simply ignoring any attempt by hospital staff to shift him. His presence, large and intimidating, probably streamlined the process of checkout.

The simple act of walking out to the car nearly convinced me to turn back. My head spun, a tunnel closed around my vision, and I had to lean on Quintus. I gritted my teeth and kept moving.

Things felt easier once I was in the car, with Quintus settling into the pilot’s seat. “I haven’t had a chance to ask about your mission. Were you successful?”

“We were. Had to dodge Cerberus on the way out, but we got most of what you asked for.” He glanced over at me, speculation in his eyes. “Some very interesting data in the package.”

“I’m sure.” I looked over at him as he guided the car up and into a traffic pattern. “Do you have a problem with . . . anything you found there?”

“I will admit some of it _surprised_ me. You’ve been busy, Doctor.”

“Hmm. I have a few things to tell you and the rest of the inner circle. We’ll have a council of war this evening.” I shifted, enjoying the freedom to _breathe_ again. “The human. Cortez. Where is he?”

“Aspasia booked him a room at the Paramount. He wants to talk to you.”

“I’m sure. Call ahead, please. I want to see him and Vara as soon as possible once we get to the office. Then I want a 1700 meeting with Aspasia, Vara, Nyxeris, Tana, Arin, and you. Have Arin’s team sweep the small conference room before then.”

The turian nodded and spoke into his comm. I leaned back and closed my eyes for a moment.

I fell asleep before we reached the office. Quintus had to call me twice before I could get out of the car under my own power.

* * *

**_18 July 2185, T’Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

I rose and came around my desk as Vara and Cortez entered my office. The human took my hand and shook it firmly.

“Lieutenant Cortez. You’re looking well.”

He nodded soberly. “Didn’t take anything worse than a few scratches on Ferris Fields. A shower, a few hours of sleep, a decent meal, and I’m back on my feet.”

“I’m glad.”

“I’m surprised to see _you_ up and about.”

“We asari are tougher than we look.” I gestured for the others to be seated on the couch, and settled down across from them.

“I wanted to thank you again for the rescue,” said Cortez. “I’m very sorry for your losses. I actually knew Yevgeni Stoletov years ago, when he was still a Marine. A good man.”

“Yes, he was.” I gave him an intent stare. “I imagine you are feeling a great deal of remorse right now.”

He dropped his gaze to the floor and said nothing.

“Lieutenant, there’s something I want you to consider. To the best of my knowledge, you are only the second person to survive a Collector attack, and the first _human_ to survive. Right now you are the only human in existence who has fought the Collectors and lived to tell the tale. That means you have knowledge no other human shares.”

He looked back up at me, frowning. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Soon you’ll need to report back to the Alliance. We’ll book you passage to the Citadel and Councilor Anderson. When you go, you’ll take with you a copy of _everything_ we’ve learned about the Collectors: objectives, technology, personal weapons and defenses, bio-engineered platforms, tactical doctrine. I want you to contribute to that report.”

_Perhaps that will provide you a reason to keep moving forward._

His face hardly changed, but I could see a flicker of enthusiasm in his eyes. “I’d be happy to help, Doctor.”

“Good. You’ve met Vara T’Rathis.”

I was proud of Vara. She extended her hand and shook his without any hesitation.

“Vara is a trained commando with over a century of military experience. I want you to work on this together. The two of you are best suited for a _military_ assessment. Arin and I aren’t soldiers, and Arin remained inside the ship the whole time.”

“I’ll get started right away,” he said. “If I can borrow a desk somewhere?”

“I can take care of that,” said Vara, rising to her feet once more. Cortez followed suit.

I held up a hand. “Lieutenant, if you would wait outside for a few moments? Vara and I have something else to discuss.”

I waited until the human had left and the door was closed behind him. Then I turned to Vara, who was watching me with some trepidation. I stepped close . . . but not too close.

“We have some unfinished business,” I said quietly.

Suddenly she could not meet my eyes. “I know.”

“I want to thank you for the encouragement,” I told her. “I needed it then, and Goddess knows I need it even more now. I botched the mission. Got Karel and Yevgeni killed, almost got _all of us_ killed.”

She shook her head in denial.

I turned away from her abruptly. The Nos Astra skyline seemed easier to deal with than her face at that moment. “No lies between us, Vara. I should have kept all of us on the ship, gotten all of us and our data away safely. I should have left Cortez to his fate. I put all of us at risk, put the mission at risk, nearly lost _everything_.”

“You made a decision,” came Vara’s voice from behind me. “Maybe it was the wrong decision, maybe not. There are always consequences. That’s part of war.”

“That’s . . . not very comforting.”

“There isn’t any comfort for times like this.”

“How do you deal with it?” I asked her.

_Shepard, how did you deal with this? Losing your family, losing your friends in one battle after another, losing Kaidan?_

I heard her move closer. “You grieve. Learn from your mistakes. Swear to do better next time. Move on. Because the enemy is still out there, and you have to keep fighting.”

“True.” I looked out at the skyline, felt my back straighten, my shoulders brace. “Thank you.”

A gentle hand on my shoulder. “That wasn’t what you wanted to discuss.”

“No.” I turned to face her once again, leaning slightly away so that her hand fell back to her side. “Vara, be honest with me. What are you feeling?”

She took a deep breath. “Why do you think I swore the acolyte’s oath to you? I admire you intensely, your _areté_ , the cause to which you have devoted your life. I admire myself more when I am following you. I want nothing more than to be at your side, through whatever may come.”

“And _eros?_ ” I murmured.

“. . . Yes. That as well.”

“I see.” I _could_ see it in her silver eyes, the passion, the conflict between duty and desire. For a moment I wanted nothing more than to touch her, to comfort her, but I knew any such gesture was far too likely to be misinterpreted.

Then for a moment, I thought I didn’t entirely _care_ if she misinterpreted.

She must have seen something in my face, because her eyes dropped, became shadowed. She eased away from me, just enough to be outside my immediate space.

I sighed. “Vara, there are things you need to know.”

“I need nothing, _despoina_.”

“I disagree. Vara . . . I am not saying _no_. I am saying _not yet_. You need to understand why.”

Her eyes returned to mine, cool and controlled, not quite ready to hope.

“What do you know of my parentage?” I began.

“Only that Matriarch Benezia was your mother.”

“I am a _pureblood_ ,” I said flatly, using the vulgar term for greatest effect.

Not a _flicker_ of reaction from her. Something deep inside my spirit uncoiled . . . just a tiny bit.

“I don’t know who my father was. My mother never mentioned her, and the Matriarch’s Seal is placed on the records. But I know _what_ she was. So did many others, while I grew up.”

“Hmm.” She frowned. “I think I see.”

“I’m sure you do. Growing up in a Matriarch’s household, surrounded by her acolytes . . . that is _not_ how we asari normally raise children. Then to be a pureblood, in this day and age? Always reminded of how our culture has come to regard such a heritage? I had _no_ interest in _eros_ as a young maiden. Not even with outsiders, _much less_ with our own people.” I shrugged. “I am a very poor asari, Vara. At least in this.”

“You did come to love Shepard,” she pointed out.

“Yes. Which brings us to the other consideration.” I hesitated for another moment, then shook my head and forged ahead. “The others will be told in a few minutes, but you deserve to know now. Vara, I think Shepard is still alive.”

 _That_ surprised her. She stared at me in shock, eyes wide and jaw slightly open.

“I can’t be sure. He has been seen, but he hasn’t contacted me. I can’t be certain that it’s truly him.”

She shook her head. “You never _stopped_ loving him, did you?”

“No.”

“Now I understand.” She braced her shoulders and looked up into my face again. “Until you know for certain . . .”

“I can’t begin to think about becoming involved with anyone else. And if it _is_ him, then . . . what I feel for him is much like what you have said you feel for me. Goddess, Vara, if you met him you would feel the same.”

The corner of her mouth quirked upward. “I doubt it. Humans are _not_ to my taste.”

“Well, they weren’t to _my_ taste either, until I met him.”

“I hope for your sake that we get the chance to find out.” She backed away half a step, still holding my gaze but cooling the tension between us. “I _do_ understand, Liara. Thank you for being honest with me.”

“No hard feelings?”

“Aside from being insanely jealous of a _human_ , no.” She brought a hand up to rub at her cheek, a rueful expression on her face. “I seem to recall that you said _not yet_ , though.”

Suddenly I had to look away. “I . . . must admit to being intrigued. But now is not a good time. Maybe there will never be a good time.”

“Well. I can live with that.” She gave me a wistful smile. “We _are_ asari, after all. We have all the time in the world. Assuming the Reapers don’t come back and kill all of us.”

I almost smiled back at her. Almost. “Thank you, Vara. I have better friends than I deserve.”

She made an ironic bow. “That’s part of what I swore to, isn’t it, _despoina?_ ”

* * *

Vara and I arrived late for the meeting. I moved to the head of the conference table, trying not to wobble on my feet before I could sit down. Everyone sat in silence, tensely waiting for the proceedings to begin. Everyone except Aspasia; she seemed uninterested, refusing to meet anyone’s eye, her normal sharp vivacity completely shadowed.

“We have a great deal to discuss,” I announced once I had everyone’s attention. “First, everything said in this meeting is to be considered classified at the MOST SECRET level, and shared with _no one_ outside this room without my express authorization. All of you will verbally acknowledge this instruction.”

I waited, watching each of them as they stated their names and acknowledgements for the record. I watched Nyxeris and Tana most closely, but I saw no sign of hesitation from either of them.

“Thank you,” I said once everyone was finished. “Effective immediately, I am promoting Vara T’Rathis to be the new director of Collection.”

Vara nodded solemnly. “I’ll do my best, _despoina_.”

“I’m sure you will.” I looked around the table once more. “Based on what our field teams have discovered – at great cost – I believe we can now piece together much of what has been happening ever since the defeat of Saren Arterius. Some of what follows may come as a surprise, but I’m convinced it’s time for all of you to know the truth.

“Two years and twenty days ago, I was on board _Normandy_ when it was attacked. The enemy overwhelmed our defenses and destroyed the ship in a matter of minutes. At the time we could not identify the enemy. Now we can. Arin?”

The quarian leaned forward and called up his analysis of the Collector vessel’s signature, explaining it to everyone. “There’s no possibility of error,” he concluded. “The _Normandy_ was attacked and destroyed by a Collector ship of the same class. Possibly the same ship that sacked the Ferris Fields colony.”

“ _Spirits_ ,” muttered Quintus.

“Thank you, Arin.” I paused to organize my thoughts. “I think everyone here knows what happened when _Normandy_ was destroyed. Many of the crew got to escape pods and survived. Commander Shepard was not one of them, and he was declared dead on the scene. That’s all a matter of public record. What happened next is _not_ so widely known. Within days of the attack, I purchased _Themis_ and returned with Garrus Vakarian to the Omega Nebula cluster. We went in search of Shepard. We were not _certain_ that he had been killed, and we hoped to rescue him before his hardsuit systems failed.

“We found Shepard’s hardsuit, but there was no sign of Shepard himself. Someone had beaten us to him, had removed his body and taken it for their own purposes.”

At that point I had their _undivided_ attention. Even Aspasia emerged from her shell, watching me closely.

“Garrus and I investigated, with the help of an Omega information dealer named Feron Therion. We discovered that Shepard’s body had fallen into the hands of the Blue Suns mercenary group, who had recovered it at the bidding of the Shadow Broker.”

“What would the Shadow Broker want with Shepard’s body?” interrupted Tana.

“That’s one of the things we were determined to discover,” I told her. “We learned that the Shadow Broker had an agreement with a third party, and planned to turn Shepard’s body over to them: _the Collectors_.”

“That’s how you recognized the Collectors when you saw them!” she exclaimed.

“Yes. I saw one in a Shadow Broker facility, just before I escaped in an agent’s ship, with Shepard’s body in the hold.” I stared across the table, to where she and Nyxeris sat together. “The Shadow Broker was working with the Collectors. At the time I had no reason to believe this anything but a one-time arrangement.”

“Then _you_ had Shepard’s body?” Tana was watching me intently. “What did you do with it?”

 _Goddess, just a little good fortune in the next five minutes, that’s all I ask_.

I set my jaw in determination and told them the truth. “I turned it over to Cerberus.”

 _Chaos_. Expressions of shock, disbelief, anger. Quintus had already deduced the truth, and Aspasia was too indifferent to react, but everyone _else_ spoke at once. Even Nyxeris stared at me as if she had never seen me before, her face very pale.

Suddenly Arin stood at his place, both fists bunched and on the table, staring at me, his voice sharp-edged with rage. _Rage_ , from _Arin_ of all people. “You were dealing with _Cerberus?_ Is _that_ why you were so sure that they weren’t behind the attack in Mumbai? Doctor . . . _have you been dealing with them this whole time?_ ”

I stood carefully, placing my own hands on the table to lean forward and match his pose. “On a very occasional basis . . . never forgetting what they are and what they have done . . . never _trusting_ them more than I must. _Yes_.”

“ _Keelah. Why?_ ”

“Because they told me there was a chance – not much of one, but a _chance_ – that they could revive Shepard.”

Dead silence around the table. No one moved but Vara, who leaned slowly back in her chair and covered her face with her hands.

“It may have been the worst mistake of my life,” I told them. “I already knew much of what Cerberus had done. Since then they have only continued to prove themselves enemies of civilization. They are violent, cruel, arrogant, and contemptuous of any but their own. Yet they convinced me that they could save Shepard’s life. I gave them the opportunity.”

I looked around. No one would meet my eyes.

Then a soft voice came from just to my right. “Oh, sit down and be quiet, all of you.”

Startled, I returned to my chair, staring at Aspasia. She watched me, sadness in her eyes, but search as I might I could see no condemnation.

“If we were to ask Liara, I’m sure she would speak of how much all of us need Commander Shepard. How he’s the only one who can convince the galaxy to take the Reapers seriously. How he’s the only one who can lead us against them.” She shook her head. “I suppose all of that might even be true, but none of it matters. _She loved him_. She couldn’t bear to let him go. _That’s_ why she turned to the only people who held out any hope. _That’s_ why she gave him over to Cerberus.”

Arin slowly sat down.

“I would have done the same,” Aspasia continued. “You don’t think I would do _anything_ to have Yevgeni back? If the Illusive Man himself promised me that he could do that? Even knowing what Cerberus is, I would listen.”

I opened my mouth, tried to speak, but nothing came for a long moment. Finally I managed: “Oh Goddess, Aspasia. I’m so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”

She shook her head, still sad but with just a flash of the old Aspasia in her eyes. “I already have. Yevgeni wouldn’t have wanted me to hate you. The Collectors, on the other hand . . . _they_ can go _straight to the abyss._ ”

I reached out and took her hand for just a moment, then turned back to the rest of the group. “Shall we continue?”

No one raised objections, not even Arin. Quintus and Vara both nodded.

“The last time I successfully communicated with Cerberus was immediately after Mumbai. At the time they showed me their progress with Shepard. They had largely rebuilt his body by then, but they had not yet been able to reconstruct his mind or memories. He remained in a deep coma. They were still not certain whether they would eventually succeed.

“I attempted to contact Cerberus again ten days ago, after we became aware of the attacks on human colonies. I failed to reach any of my contacts, including the Illusive Man himself. My best guess is that Cerberus has chosen to cut off all contact with me, for reasons known only to them.

“Four days ago, just before we left on our missions, I was contacted by Tali’Zorah vas Neema, another one of Shepard’s crew.”

Arin’s head rose, his eyes glowing at me through his visor once more.

“Tali and her own team arrived on Freedom’s Progress within a few hours after we lost contact with Veetor’s network there. She told me she had seen Shepard there, alive and well, in the company of two Cerberus operatives. They helped her team rescue Veetor.”

“Veetor is all right?” asked Arin quietly.

I nodded. “He was very disturbed by his experience, but he’s safe and sound, back with the Migrant Fleet.”

The quarian nodded in thanks.

“You will all remember that I sent Quintus and a team to a Cerberus installation at the same time that my team departed for Ferris Fields. I think you can now guess why.”

“That’s where they worked on Shepard,” guessed Vara.

“ _Lazarus Station_ ,” said Aspasia. “Lazarus was a figure out of human legend. A man who returned from death.”

“Appropriate,” said Tana. “Cerberus tends to use legendary allusions when they name their facilities. If you’re familiar with human mythology, sometimes you can guess what they’re up to.”

“You have it,” I said. “Quintus, what did your team find?”

“The place stood empty when we arrived,” said the big turian. “Signs of violence, a lot of dead humans everywhere. We also found a _lot_ of broken and deactivated security mechs, both LOKI and YMIR models. Near as we could determine, the mechs suddenly went berserk. Their friend-or-foe systems flipped and they started killing anyone they saw. Must have been a massacre.”

I listened with wide eyes. There hadn’t been time for Quintus to tell even me the whole story.

“We penetrated to the computer core and pulled what records we could find. Keetah was able to determine what had happened.” Quintus used his omni-tool, calling up an image over the conference table: a male human, pale-skinned, bald but with a neatly trimmed beard, wearing a sour expression on his face. “This human was named _David Wilson_. He served Project Lazarus as its Chief Medical Officer. He was apparently the technical lead on the project to revive Commander Shepard. He was also the one who hacked the station’s security system and caused the mechs to go wild.”

“I don’t understand,” said Arin. “If this Wilson was in charge of the project to revive Shepard . . . why would he wait until the project was almost over and then sabotage it?”

“Because he was a double agent, and he had received new instructions.” Quintus turned to look at me. “Wilson was in the pay of the Shadow Broker.”

“Your evidence, Quintus?” I asked.

Wilson’s image was replaced with three holo-windows, displaying waterfalls of text data.

“Wilson was careful around other Cerberus personnel, but in his private files he wasn’t quite so discreet. He had buried the truth deep down, covered by a layer of steganography and two layers of encryption . . . but Keetah found all of it and pulled it out. Communications with his superiors in the Broker’s network, dates and amounts of money transfers, his personal observations on the Lazarus Project.” Quintus shrugged. “It wouldn’t be enough to convince a court of law, but it’s enough to convince _me_. Wilson tried to kill Commander Shepard and everyone else on board that station, and he damn near succeeded.”

“What happened to Wilson?” asked Nyxeris.

Quintus’s mandibles spread in a turian smile, and we could hear the satisfaction in his flanging voice. “We found him right outside a shuttle bay, stone dead. Single shot in the head, at point-blank range, and it wasn’t a mech that did it.”

“Someone must have killed him while he tried to get away from the station,” I guessed.

“Yes. We also discovered a shuttle missing. Just one. Someone _did_ get away.” He cocked his head back, smiling directly at Nyxeris and Tana. “I’ll tell you something else. We found plenty of evidence that Shepard _had been_ at that station, but none of the bodies we found were his. If Dr. T’Soni’s quarian friend thinks she saw Shepard with some Cerberus people, I’m inclined to believe her.”

 _Step back, Quintus_. _You’re making your point too obvious._

“Let me sum up so far,” I said, trying to pull everyone’s attention away from him. “The Collectors are almost certainly agents of the Reapers. They attacked and destroyed _Normandy_ two years ago, then worked with the Shadow Broker to try to recover Shepard’s body. More recently, the Shadow Broker moved to sabotage the Lazarus Project and kill Shepard again. What does that suggest to all of you?”

Tana leaned forward, her face intent, like a predator on the trail of its prey. “Suppose the Collectors are still interested in Shepard, and the Shadow Broker is still working with them. Then it all fits together.”

I nodded. “Arin, I believe that is your cue.”

The quarian seemed to have forgotten his earlier anger. He willingly opened his omni-tool and called up a holo-window above the table, replacing Quintus’s data. “On Ferris Fields, I had a stroke of tremendous luck. I managed to get into the _Collector_ networks. None of my malware worked, but I did manual data-mining for about eight minutes before the Collectors shut me out. I couldn’t get back in before we had to bug out.”

“What did you find?” asked Quintus.

“A lot of crap,” the quarian answered. “That’s how it goes with manual data-mining, especially when you’re in a hurry. Most of it is in Collector symbology, and I imagine most of _that_ would be useless even if we could read it. But I did find a few files in Citadel-Standard symbology. Targeting data, and a set of dossiers.”

Quintus shook his head. “ _Dossiers?_ On whom?”

“Commander Shepard and Lieutenant Ashley Williams were at the top of the list,” said Arin. “Followed by about twenty other human names I didn’t recognize at first. I cross-checked the list after we returned to Illium. It’s all of the surviving human members of Shepard’s crew from _Normandy_.”

Tana nodded, as if a suspicion had been confirmed. “All the humans who were most involved in defeating Saren.”

“What do you mean by _targeting data?_ ” asked Vara.

Arin highlighted and expanded one of the files in the window above the table: a database. Some of its entries, less than twenty, were marked out in green. “The Collectors had a list of human colony planets: names, coordinates, population figures, military assessments. Not just the ones we predicted they might hit. It looks as if they plan to start attacking larger settlements once they’ve stripped all the little Terminus colonies clean.”

“What do they need with so many humans?” wondered Quintus.

“I don’t know, but there’s more. I think they are _specifically_ interested in the humans from Shepard’s crew. Their targeting data were extensively cross-correlated to those dossiers, as if they were deliberately _looking_ for these humans. And one dossier _wasn’t_ for a human . . .”

I felt it, like my gut suddenly going into free-fall. I _knew_ what name Arin was about to recite.

“. . . Liara T’Soni.”

Vara stared at him. “Arin, are you saying the Collectors attacked Ferris Fields because _they knew Dr. T’Soni was going to be there?_ ”

Arin shook his head. “I can’t be sure . . . but I think it’s possible.”

“Arin, you didn’t mention this in your initial report,” I chided him.

“Sorry, Doctor. I didn’t make the final connection until an hour ago.”

“Well, that’s why they call it an _initial_ report.” I raised a hand to my chin, thinking fast. “Arin, how would you say the Collectors got all these data?”

“ _That_ I can be sure about,” said the quarian. He tapped at his omni-tool, and the files displayed on the holo-window scrolled rapidly downward. At the top of each file stood a block of binary data, which Arin highlighted in red. “These message headers aren’t standard for the extranet, so we don’t have to imagine the Collectors surfing for data themselves. Instead, they’re consistent with data coming from a specific black grid . . . the Shadow Broker’s network.”

“The Broker again,” growled Quintus.

“Yes.” I stood at the head of the table, gathering eyes. “Some of this is circumstantial, but it all fits the same pattern. It appears to me that the Collectors have been at war with the rest of the galaxy since before the defeat of Saren Arterius. They are currently abducting and presumably killing humans by the hundreds of thousands. We see evidence that they plan to expand their campaign. And _the Shadow Broker has been aiding them the entire time._ Does anyone see another way to interpret the evidence?”

“I don’t understand this,” I said calmly. “The Broker has a reputation for honesty and neutrality. He doesn’t take sides. If anything, he moves to _limit_ conflict among the galaxy’s major powers. Why he would side with the Collectors – with _the Reapers_ – is beyond me. What I do know is that he can’t be permitted to continue.

“At this point I hope to _contact_ the Shadow Broker. Demand an explanation. Perhaps convince him to break off his dealings with the Collectors. Until he does that, I don’t think we can treat him as anything but an outlaw. As of now it is my intention to commit our resources to oppose, not only the Collectors, but the Broker as well.”

Slowly, I looked around the table. Six pairs of eyes met mine squarely.

“There’s another consideration here, and that’s the true reason I called this meeting.” I took a deep breath. “I bungled the mission on Ferris Fields, and we lost two good men as a result. I’ve just come clean with all of you about my personal dealings with Cerberus, an organization you all have reason to fear and mistrust.

“I’ve given all of you good reason to doubt my leadership. This is not a military organization, and I can’t compel your allegiance. If any of you can no longer work for this firm in good conscience, please see me in my office before you leave. I’ll give you a generous severance bonus and a letter of recommendation. All I ask is that you sign an NDA covering all the sensitive and classified information to which you’ve had access while you were here.”

Still silence.

“I’ll leave you to talk it over,” I said at last, not trusting my body to stand up much longer. “Thank you for your patience.”

Then I fled for the exit.

* * *

An hour passed while I sat at my desk. I tried to catch up on routine administrative work: reviewing our analytic products, reading proposals, initialing policy papers the department heads had written. No use. I couldn’t concentrate, driven half out of my mind with fatigue, dull pain, and remorse. Finally I gave up, sent out for an evening meal, and sat on my couch to eat.

I nearly dropped my wine-glass when the door opened. Aspasia and Quintus came into my office together.

My heart sank. Somehow I had expected it, but now that the moment had come, I found myself reluctant to face them. I set the glass down on my side table and stood.

Quintus must have seen something in my expression. He hurried forward to loom over me, Aspasia following in his wake.

“Spirits, Doctor, don’t put on that face,” he said. “We’re not here to resign.”

I blinked in surprise. “. . . What?”

Aspasia stood before me. “None of us are going to resign.”

“Not even Arin?”

“Not even Arin.” Aspasia made a wan smile. “Quintus had something to do with that.”

The turian snorted. “I just reminded him that in the intelligence business, if you’re not willing to work even with your enemies once in a while, you’ll never get anywhere.”

“There were fangs involved,” said Aspasia. “Talons. Beady little carnivore-bird eyes.”

I dropped my face into both hands. “You _didn’t_ coerce him!”

“Of course not,” scoffed Quintus. “I just expressed my opinion . . . a little forcefully. I also told him it would be a _long_ time before I stood him another bottle of turian brandy if he didn’t see sense.”

“Oh Goddess. He’s going to be sure I put you up to that. I’m going to be apologizing to him for _days_.”

“Don’t worry about Arin. Don’t worry about any of them.” Quintus’s gaze narrowed. “Except maybe Nyxeris or Tana.”

“I have my eye on them both,” I assured him. “Half of what I said in that meeting was for their benefit. If either of them is an agent for the Broker, I want them thinking _very hard_ about that allegiance.”

Quintus shook his head. “If either of them is an agent for the Broker, you just told him flat out that you’re coming for his hide.”

“Maybe. Or maybe he’ll take the opportunity to _talk_ to me about all this.” I held up a hand to forestall his next objection. “I know. Not even I really believe that will happen. I want you to reinforce all of the force-protection details, Quintus. Put your best men on our key personnel, round-the-clock watch.”

“Already done.” Quintus made a half-bow and then went to see to his duties, leaving me alone with Aspasia.

I stood with her, suddenly at a loss for words.

“I meant what I said,” she told me finally.

“I believe you. What I don’t understand is why.”

“I know you did everything you could.” She stepped closer, sank down to sit on my couch. “Liara, it might have been a mistake, going to rescue Cortez. But it was the _right_ kind of mistake to make. I know that Yevgeni died happy, doing what he thought was a good and noble thing.”

“How can you be so sure?” I sighed.

She tapped the side of her head. “He’s still with me, after all.”

I sat down with her, my half-finished meal forgotten. “Tell me about him.”

She slid over next to me, pressing close and resting her head on my shoulder. “All right.”

We sat there for hours as she talked. For a time there were tears. Later there was gentle laughter.


	34. Beyond the Firelight

**_19 July 2185, Spring Hills Apartment Complex, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

I stood in a room.

In its natural state the room was a plain cube, not quite three steps across. Aside from a single storage cabinet built into a slate-gray wall, with a control panel adjacent, the room had no visible features. The inhabitant could call up memory-plastic furnishings for a kitchenette and dining nook, a refresher, a bedroom, or a sitting room as needed, but only one of those at a time. The room seemed identical to hundreds of thousands of others, found everywhere in the lowest levels of Nos Astra’s _ouranonikos_ buildings.

It felt like the kind of soul-destroying place in which one of Illium’s slaves might live. She might spend a _century_ in this bare little box, carefully hoarding her hard-earned credits, until she could pay off her indenture and start working for her own profit at last. I could imagine Aspasia’s mother living in a room just like this.

At the moment, the room contained a bed.

It wasn’t much of a bed: a simple platform, just wide enough for one, with an inflated pad for a mattress. The sheets seemed clean but utterly drab, a dull off-white color that suggested decades of reuse.

In the bed lay a dead asari.                                                                                            

I saw no signs of violence. The thin top-sheet, rumpled and twisted, had slipped down to expose one breast. Beneath it the asari obviously wore nothing. Her body sprawled across the little pallet, oddly vulnerable, thighs apart and one hand curled over her heart, as if someone had interrupted her in the midst of an erotic dream. Her deep-blue skin showed almost no markings, except for a spray of indigo dapples around her eyes. The eyes themselves stared upward, their color faded by death and long exposure to the dry air. Once they might have been green.

“Well, Doctor? Can you identify her?”

 _You left the office after our meeting last night_. _Where did you go? Who did you see? What in the name of the Goddess brought you to this dismal place to die?_

My mind was still having a hard time processing the event. When the detective called me at the office, I felt _convinced_ it was a false alarm. No plausible sequence of events could have led to me standing in this room, over this bed, looking down at this specific corpse. Just twelve hours before she had been alive, sharply intelligent, intent on the solution of the enormous problems we faced.

To my enormous shame, a part of me was _whining_.

_Oh Goddess I’m tired I hurt I shouldn’t even be out of bed **it’s too much** I can’t carry all this responsibility can’t I just go off and study dry safe potsherds on some quiet planet no one has ever heard of?_

“Doctor?”

I took that part of me and forced it into a locked box in the darkest corner of my mind. “Yes, Detective. Her name is Tana Charentis. She is one of my employees.”

“Any idea what she’s doing here?”

I looked at Detective Anaya: an asari of average height, athletically slim, her features plain, her coloring a deep blue. She wore a utilitarian gray-and-black uniform with a sidearm at her hip. She had already impressed me with her competence and no-nonsense attitude.

“I’m afraid not,” I told her. “Tana owns a large apartment in the Krythos district. I’m having difficulty even _imagining_ her in a place like this.”

“You paid her well?”

“She was one of my best analysts. I do have to wonder, Detective, what made you call me.”

Anaya pointed to the storage cabinet. “We found her omni-tool. She had it locked down _tight_ – without taking it back to the station for a search warrant and a cracking run, we couldn’t even get her ID. But we did find a note left in open storage.”

“What did it say?”

She opened her own omni-tool and played an audio file. Tana’s voice, slow and sad, a single sentence: “Tell Dr. T’Soni I’m sorry.”

I frowned but said nothing.

Anaya used her omni-tool again to call up public records. “Tana Charentis. Age not quite five hundred. No current bondmate . . . two children in her household. _Damn_.”

“I know the family slightly. The children are both in their fifties, currently attending the University of Illium. Their father was a turian, now deceased. I’m not aware that she was carrying on a liaison with anyone.”

“No under-the-table affairs?”

“I would be very surprised. She held a high-level security clearance from my firm. I screen my employees carefully for high-risk behavior.”

“Nice respectable matron, then.”

“That was always my impression.”

She closed her omni-tool with a tiny _chirp._ “Nice respectable matrons with money don’t end up dead in places like this.”

“No.” I gave Anaya a sharp glance. “Not unless someone causes them to. My firm has made its share of enemies.”

“I know. My division spent a lot of time picking up after your little war with Eclipse a few months back. But this doesn’t seem like Eclipse. It’s got that sweet but faintly rotten smell that you get from the very highest levels of the _ouranonikoi_.”

“What can you tell me, Detective?”

“The VI monitor for this block of apartments noticed the first signs of decomposition about two hours ago and called us in. We found her like this, her clothes and omni-tool neatly put away in the storage cabinet. Time of death was sometime around 0300 this morning. She had a blood-alcohol level consistent with one or two drinks in the four hours before death. No other drugs or poisons in her system. There’s evidence she had recently engaged in sexual activity, but it might have been autoerotic. There’s _some_ sign someone else has been in the room recently, but that’s inconclusive. Could just as easily have been a maintenance tech, gone long before she arrived. The damn cleaning robots always sweep away the evidence.”

“Cause of death?”

Anaya shook her head. “No clue. Not without a formal autopsy.”

“No physical trauma?”

“Not even an old bruise. Weird.”

I sighed. “All right, Detective. Is there anything else you need from me at the moment?”

“No. Thank you.” She frowned, as if debating whether to dismiss me, and then her jaw firmed in decision. “Doctor, there’s something you should know. I’ve developed a good sense for when a case is _political_ in some way. Sometimes it’s in what my superiors say about the case. Sometimes it’s in what they _don’t_ say.”

“Are you saying Tana’s death might be . _. . political?”_

“Maybe. Let’s just say I wouldn’t be surprised to see some pressure to declare this a death by natural causes. Or by suicide, given that note. Whether the autopsy report points that way or not.”

I felt a stirring of anger and repressed it. Anaya was at least being honest with me. “Why do you think that is so? Because she’s _my_ employee?”

“As you say, Doctor, you’ve made some enemies. On the other hand you’ve also made some powerful friends.” She shrugged. “I could be wrong. I’ll have to wait and see what happens.”

“How do you feel about that?” I asked quietly. “What if your instincts tell you this might be murder, but your superiors disagree?”

“There wouldn’t be much I could do.” She held my gaze unflinchingly. “Officially.”

I nodded slowly, understanding her quite well.

* * *

_**1** _ **_9 July 2185, T’Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

It was a difficult day at the office. When I returned with the news, it sent the entire Analysis department into chaos. Even Nyxeris, normally completely unflappable, seemed shocked and subdued. Eventually we reassigned everyone to do the absolute minimum to get our daily products out the door, and permitted liberal leave so that our people could take time to cope with our sudden losses. Even if I had wanted to, I couldn’t have insisted that work proceed normally. Tana had been too popular, and her death had come too soon after Yevgeni’s.

In the back of my mind I sensed the Collectors gaining on us. Tana had been my best expert on the Terminus Systems and the Collectors themselves, crucial to our work on the crisis. We had sent Cortez on his way with an extensive report, but there remained more data to be studied, from Ferris Fields and elsewhere. If the pattern held, another world would be attacked in no more than three days, and we still had found no way to stop the process.

Another thing preyed on my mind as well. As of the previous evening, I still had reason to believe that someone in my organization was working under the table for the Shadow Broker. Nyxeris and Tana had been two of my most likely suspects. I had invited both of them to the meeting in which I laid out the truth about the Broker’s ongoing involvement with the Collectors, his direct support to the attacks on human colonies. If either of them was the mole, I wanted to confront them with the truth about their allegiance.

The next day, Tana turned up dead, cause unclear.

 _Tell Dr. T’Soni I’m sorry_.

I felt tempted. Assume that Tana was the mole, and half my operational problems would be solved. I could go after the Shadow Broker and the Collectors without having to worry so much about my own security. I might even be able to re-establish contact with Cerberus. It occurred to me that the Illusive Man knew of my security problem – he had been the one to bring it to my attention, in fact – and he might have cut off contact after deciding I was a liability in the current crisis.

It was _too_ tempting. As Detective Anaya might have said, it didn’t _smell_ right. It had the whiff of manipulation, like something the Illusive Man might have done to push me into a course of action of his choosing.

Something else occurred to me as well. Suppose that Tana _had been_ a mole for the Shadow Broker. What proof did I have that she was the _only_ mole?

No. I couldn’t jump to conclusions. I needed to know _how_ and _why_ Tana had died. For the sake of our cause, for the sake of the firm, for her sake and mine.

I dealt with everything I needed to at the office, and then Quintus and I went to the _Eternity_ lounge an hour before opening. The proprietor did not want to admit us, but she changed her mind once Aethyta saw who stood at the door.

The Matriarch greeted me with a smile, which quickly vanished once she had a chance to examine me more closely. “Goddess, doc, you look like crap. What’s going on?”

“What’s going on is that she should be at home in bed,” growled Quintus. “Or in the hospital.”

Aethyta’s eyes widened.

I made a dismissive gesture. “I don’t have time to play the convalescent. Matriarch, we’re here to ask about one of my employees. We think she came here last night.”

“Who was it?” she asked soberly, encouraging us to be seated at a table.

I opened my omni-tool and projected an image for Aethyta to inspect. “This is Tana Charentis, one of my analysts.”

“Sure, I know her. Nice young lady. She comes in every now and then after work. Likes Samian brandy.”

“She’s dead,” I said flatly.

Aethyta stared at me. “How?”

“That’s what we’re trying to determine. Did she come in last night?”

The Matriarch nodded slowly. “She did . . . and I remember thinking at the time that it was a bit strange. First, she came in later than usual.”

“We had an important meeting last night that ran late. Go on.”

“Then she came in by herself. She _never_ comes in alone. She’s always with at least two or three of her friends from the office. And instead of sitting down at a table, she came up to the bar and ordered her brandy there. She and I must have talked for over an hour, on and off while I took care of other customers.”

“What did you talk about?”

Aethyta gave me a sharp look. “It wasn’t any of your secrets, kid, don’t worry about that. Did you lose someone else recently?”

“Yes,” I said quietly. “Yevgeni Stoletov was killed three days ago, on Ferris Fields.”

“Oh Goddess. That’s too damn bad. How is Aspasia taking it?”

“About as well as can be expected.” I sighed, looking down to where my index finger traced geometric shapes on the tabletop. “She’s trying to be tough and work her way through it, but I can tell she’s hurting. I’m worried about her.”

“Well, you tell her I’m pulling for her too. Anything I can do to help . . .”

I smiled at her. “Thank you, Matriarch. It’s appreciated.”

“Well, your friend Tana seemed a little upset about that too, and I guess she had heard some news at the office that she had to think about. She didn’t go into that in any detail. Mostly she asked me for war stories.”

“War stories?”

“Sure. Some of the old stories I heard from my mom and dad, some of the things I did when I was a young idiot.” She must have noticed my expression. “No offense.”

“None taken. I wonder why she was interested in that?”

“Tana never had any commando training or military experience,” mused Quintus. “Maybe she was trying to get some perspective, so she could better cope with Yevgeni’s death and . . . other recent events.”

“That sounds about right,” said Aethyta. “Stand behind a bar long enough and you start to get a feel for when people are working through a big issue. She had all the marks of it.”

“Would you say she seemed depressed?” I asked.

“Not really. _Thoughtful_ , sure. Sad about what happened on your mission. That’s all.” She gave me a sharp glance. “She didn’t kill _herself_ , did she?”

“It’s not clear. It certainly doesn’t sound like something she would do.”

Aethyta shook her head in vigorous denial.

“How late did she stay?” I asked.

“Hmm. We talked for over an hour while she had one glass of brandy, then I had a rush of customers and she decided to take her second glass out on the terrace. I kind of lost track of her after that. Last time I can be sure I saw her was . . . it must have been about midnight.”

“Still out on the terrace?”

Aethyta closed her eyes, trying to summon up the memory. “Yes . . . and I don’t think she was alone.”

“Who was with her?” asked Quintus, staring at the Matriarch intently. “Was it one of our people?”

“No. I would have recognized any of her usual friends.” She opened her eyes again, shaking her head. “I didn’t get a good look. An asari, tall, slim, wearing something in black, maybe a cocktail dress. That’s all I can remember.”

I frowned. “Did she leave with this person?”

“I can’t be sure. Maybe.”

“That would be very strange for Tana. She wasn’t at all prone to casual affairs.”

“Sorry, kid. I could be wrong. I wasn’t really trying to watch her.”

I reached out and patted the Matriarch’s arm. “There’s no reason why you should have been. Thank you for what you were able to remember.”

“Sure thing. I’ll let you know if anything else comes to mind.”

* * *

Arin was as frustrated as I had ever seen him.

We sat in his work area, in the heart of the T’Soni Analytics offices. He had a large space set up as a war room, where he and a dozen others from his department could keep their fingers on the pulse of the entire extranet. We had _thousands_ of software agents in place in networks throughout the galaxy, constantly mining for useful data and sending it back by circuitous routes to Illium. Adjacent to the war room we had set up an extensive laboratory, where Arin’s team could test new methods in cryptanalysis, network intrusion, data mining, and other esoteric disciplines.

Much of the firm affectionately called the lab “Quarian Central,” because many of Arin’s team _were_ quarians, and those who were not still tended to imitate quarian behavior. They kept the place compulsively neat and clean, as if aboard a liveship of the Migrant Fleet, and decorated it with quarian sigils and wall-art. It felt odd to hear our non-quarian technicians sprinkling their speech with _keelahs_ and _bosh’tets_ and other quarian slang, but it also pleased me. Arin and his people had won _complete_ acceptance in at least one small slice of Illium society.

“I have to admit, Doctor, I’m at a loss,” Arin finally said after two hours of effort. “We’ve had full penetration into the Nos Astra public monitoring system for over a year. I should be able to call up imagery from any of the street cameras almost at will. I’ve just watched you, Aspasia, Vara, Quintus, and myself as we all went home last night. Almost door-to-door coverage. But I get _nothing_ on Tana after she walked into _Eternity_. As far as the cameras are concerned, she never left.”

“It’s a big building. Are any exits not covered?”

“Not really. The service entrance for the lounge is in an alley, and the nearest camera doesn’t have a good angle on the doors, but it’s impossible for anyone to move more than a few steps without being spotted. An underground mall passes beneath the building, but that’s public space and it has camera coverage.”

I sat back in my chair, looking out through the big window onto Arin’s war room floor. “All right, let’s turn this around. How would _you_ evade the monitors?”

“I’ve already thought of that,” said Arin, shaking his head ruefully. “I would hack the cameras and either put them on a loop or gap out a few moments of coverage, depending on how much movement I had to conceal in the images. Those leave signs in the record, though. You can spot a loop even if there’s no movement, by looking at the repetition of imaging artifacts. Removing part of the record always messes up the timestamps. I haven’t seen signs of tampering in any of the imagery.”

“So you’re saying there’s no way anyone could alter the images without you being able to detect the fact?”

“Not unless they could somehow edit the images frame-by-frame, and do it so seamlessly none of my analytic methods can spot the anomaly. It would need complete access to the security mainframes and some _really_ advanced tech. Lots of computational power, running at extremely fast rates. Probably beyond current state of the art.”

I rocked slightly in my chair, staring at him in silence.

Behind his visor, his eyes blinked in confusion. “What are you suggesting, Doctor?”

“I’m not sure. Access to the security mainframes can be stolen . . . or bought. And it occurs to me that at least one of our enemies has access to extremely advanced technology.”

“The Collectors?” He cocked his head skeptically at me. “We would know it if they were active here on Illium.”

“Not the Collectors themselves,” I said slowly. “Perhaps they’ve shared some technology with the Shadow Broker, as we suspect they did with Saren. Ways for the Broker’s agents to gather information that would otherwise be inaccessible. Ways to cover up their activities, or operate without attracting notice.”

“Hmm.”

“Think about it, Arin. Haven’t you always told me that any technological problem has a technological solution?”

“I never say that.”

I smiled at him. “Given your talents and the expertise of your team . . . maybe you should.”

* * *

**_19 July 2185, Pareinos District, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

Detective Anaya refused to come to the T’Soni Analytics offices, and she seemed reluctant to invite me to her district station. So once she went off-duty, we met over dinner at one of my favored restaurants, _Enzio’s Kitchen_ , a human-owned establishment that specialized in something called _Italian_ cuisine.

Anaya looked askance at my meal, an enormous pile of noodles with tomato sauce and meatballs, complete with _garlic bread_ and an imported Earth wine. “All due respect, Doctor, but that looks like something that’s already been eaten.”

“Don’t reject it until you’ve tried it. If you want something that resembles asari cuisine more closely, I would suggest one of the salads.”

“I’ll take you up on that.” She produced a datapad and passed it across to me. “Here’s the report.”

I read while we ate. Anaya watched me as she crunched through her salad, waiting for the moment when I saw the implications.

“ _Accidental_ death?” I asked, incredulous.

“Even with the note, they couldn’t quite call it a suicide with a straight face. So the ruling is that she shorted out her own brain by self-stimulation. Too bad, but you know how it is. Live for centuries with a little flaw buried in your skull, no clue it’s there, and then _poof_ , one night you come and go at the same time.”

I fought down the urge to snap at her. She was at least trying to help. “Detective, this report doesn’t indicate a localized neurological failure due to a surge of psychosexual feedback. She suffered from a _massive_ cerebral hemorrhage and almost complete neural collapse.”

She nodded silently.

“Not to mention that the ruling leaves a hundred questions unanswered. If she wanted to engage in autoerotic activity, why not do that in the privacy and comfort of her own apartment? Why use an anonymous little cube in the slums? What about the other person she was seen with? Why is there no sign of her movements on the public monitors for several hours before she died?”

The detective stared at me. “What’s this?”

I explained the results of Arin’s work.

Anaya sighed. “Technically I suppose I should run you in for abuse of the monitor system, except that I would then have to try to arrest half the big players on Illium. Never mind. You remember what I said about the case being _political?_ ”

I nodded, disgust probably written clearly on my face.

“Yeah. So my superiors have decided that this isn’t worth investigating further. Too bad for the matron and her kids, but these things happen sometimes. Next case.” She leaned close, her eyes intense on mine. “ _Fuck that_. Your friend was murdered . . . and that’s not all. Something about this case jogged my memory, so I went digging. Check out the next file.”

I picked up the datapad again and read through another set of documents. Case reports: other deaths with similar features, scattered around Nos Astra and occurring over a period of several years.

“You think a serial killer is on the loose,” I said at last.

“Not just any serial killer,” said Anaya. “We have an _ardat-yakshi_ in Nos Astra.”


	35. The Night Winds

**_19 July 2185, Pareinos District, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

I stared at Detective Anaya over the remains of our meals. Had Shepard told me _I think the Reapers are allied with the Orcs of Mordor_ I would have been no less surprised.

“You _cannot_ be serious,” I said at last. “ _Ardat-yakshi_ are a myth. Villains and monsters out of legend.”

“That’s what the Matriarchs want you to think,” said the detective. “Doctor, the _ardat-yakshi_ phenomenon isn’t myth or magic. It’s based on a genetic disorder that isn’t even all that rare. Maybe one in a hundred of us have it in a mild form.”

I shook my head, still trying to resolve the cognitive dissonance that Anaya’s assertions provoked. “One in a hundred asari is _not_ a psychopathic killer, devouring the souls of others.”

She actually laughed at me, though not unkindly. “That was my reaction too, when I was told about all this in the academy. The Matriarchs may try to hush it up, but a cop has to know. Haven’t you ever met an asari who just didn’t seem to _care_ about anyone else? No empathy, just ego and the drive to _use_ other people? A maiden who jumps from one liaison to the next, and her lovers never get anything out of her but pain and heartache. A stone-cold commando whose only interest is the hunt and the kill. A business executive who doesn’t give a shit about anything but the bottom line. And somehow they never have kids of their own. You know the type.”

I thought back to a few asari I had known over the years. “I suppose I do.”

“Good bet a lot of asari like that have the disorder. They don’t have it in the lethal form – that’s rare as blue diamonds, thank the Goddess. They don’t kill their lovers like the _ardat-yakshi_ out of legend. They just abuse them and then throw them away when they’re not useful anymore. And they’re sterile. Maybe they can be the father for another asari’s kids, but they can never be mothers.”

My eyes widened as I saw the implications. “So only . . . purebloods can carry this disorder?”

“Yeah.” She had the grace to look embarrassed for a moment. “The best way to make sure the problem doesn’t get into your lineage is to mate outside the asari species.”

_She has done her research on me. Well, at least she’s trying to be polite about it._

“That might explain the prejudice against such matings,” I said calmly. “If the Matriarchs know about this condition, they would find ways to discourage matrons from accepting asari fathers for their children.”

The detective nodded wisely. “It’s been going on for centuries. It’s hard to tell in the old histories, but if you read between the lines you can see that the disease was more common before we met the salarians and set up the Citadel Alliance.”

Suddenly I had to stop, because a horrible thought had occurred to me.

_Might this be why Benezia was so reticent about my father’s identity? Might my father have suffered from this condition?_

_Might I have it as well?_

Then I followed the logic through to its conclusion.

_No. I mated with Shepard many times, and once we had resolved a few purely psychological issues our joinings brought him nothing but pleasure. I made a partial joining with Vara and she exhibited no signs of distress. I may have had to do terrible things over the past two years, but I am still capable of empathy for others. I am safe from this curse._

I took a last sip of my wine, trying to shake the horror of that last thought. “So this condition exists, and it has a lethal form. Then the legends of the _ardat-yakshi_ must be based in historical reality.”

“Believe it, Doctor. I’ve read the case studies. Maybe one asari in a million has the condition bad enough that she has to be confined to a monastery or a prison. Then you get the real lethal cases, the ones who could turn into killers on a huge scale, like Queen Lyssa out of the stories.”

“How frequent are those?”

“In modern times, maybe one or two in a century. Mostly they end up in the monasteries too. Or they try to run and the Justicar Order catches them.”

I shivered at the thought of the _justicars_.

“So you can see why I think there must be a true _ardat-yakshi_ here on Illium. That autopsy report on your friend? It’s a dead match for the symptoms of a lethal attack by a carrier of the disease. Same for these other cases I showed you. In my business you hear rumors once in a while, of an _ardat-yakshi_ who got away from the justicars, living in hiding somewhere and killing whenever she thinks she can get away with it. Maybe the rumors are true.”

“It still sounds like a ghost story, but I’ll stipulate the possibility. What does that tell us about our killer?”

Anaya sat back, satisfied that she had won her point. “A lot depends on how long she’s been killing. A young _ardat-yakshi_ is just another maiden . . . but every time she kills, she soaks up a little of what made her victim special. She gets smarter, faster, more cunning. More ability to manipulate people. More raw biotic power.”

“Like Queen Lyssa.” I remembered the story of the Monster Queen of Ramatis, who had ruled over – and fed upon – an immense realm, before being brought down by a band of legendary heroes.

“Yeah. It sounds like your friend was a pretty smart matron, not likely to just jump into bed with anyone. Yet she met the killer for the first time at that lounge, and then walked right out the door with her a little while later. That argues the killer is a _very_ smooth operator. Smart. Persuasive.”

“She’s also not working alone,” I pointed out.

Anaya shook her head. “No. _Ardat-yakshi_ don’t have any supernatural ability to disappear in front of cameras and security systems. Someone had to do that for her.”

“Who?”

“Don’t know. Probably a big player.”

“Eclipse?” I guessed.

“Maybe. They might have the technical capability. Doesn’t feel like them, though. They wouldn’t use this kind of indirection. If they don’t like you, they just start shooting at you in broad daylight. As you have reason to know.”

“True.”

“What’s odd is the idea of an _ardat-yakshi_ working with a partner. The psychology of the disease suggests they wouldn’t work or play well with others.”

“Even utter sociopaths can make alliances of convenience,” I decided. “Our killer could strike an agreement with some party in Nos Astra who could help to conceal her activities. Give her safe haven. Tamper with security systems. Put pressure on senior police officials to ignore certain lines of investigation.”

“The thought had occurred, Doctor.”

“In exchange, the _ardat-yakshi_ occasionally targets people her partners want dead.” I tilted my head back, still holding Anaya’s gaze. “Detective, one of my people has been killed. I have no doubt that more will follow if nothing is done. Will Nos Astra law enforcement act on this case?”

She sighed. “I’ll personally do whatever I can for you . . . but no, until something _forces_ my superiors to take action, I think we’re on our own.”

I nodded grimly. “I suppose I’ve come to expect that by now. Illium is what it is.”

The detective watched my face closely. “What are you planning, Doctor?”

“Perhaps it would be better for you to not ask that question.”

* * *

**_20 July 2185, T’Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

The next day at the office began very badly.

I came in at the usual hour and met Aspasia outside my office, thinking to prepare for the morning staff meeting. Instead I took one look at her and told her to go home.

“Liara . . .”

“Don’t argue with me,” I said firmly. “You look terrible, and you haven’t taken so much as a day off since we set up this firm two years ago. You deserve a break to cope with what has happened. _Go home_.”

She stood silently in the hallway outside my office, a datapad dangling from nerveless fingers, and looked at me from eyes framed by deep purple smudges. “I don’t want to go. Not alone. If I’m alone with his memories . . . it’s hard.”

I stepped close and embraced her. “I know. What if I were to send someone to stay with you for a few days? Just to keep you company, listen to you if you feel like talking.”

She almost shook her head in rejection of the idea, but then something made her stop, resting her forehead on my shoulder. “That . . . might not be a terrible idea,” she said in a small voice.

I held her close for a few moments, feeling her shoulders shake. When Quintus appeared in the hallway, I warned him away with my eyes and he retreated in silence. Finally Aspasia eased out of my embrace, scrubbing at her cheeks and breathing deeply.

“Better?” I asked gently.

“Maybe a little. I’m sorry, Liara, I feel as if I’m letting everyone down.”

“Don’t be absurd.” I opened my omni-tool and called down to Arin’s department. “Arin, would you send Keetah up to my office?”

“Right away,” said the quarian.

As it happened, Arin and Keetah appeared together. Keetah was already Aspasia’s friend, so the quarian woman was only too happy to take her home and watch over her for a time. Arin remained behind, his body language continuing to show concern even after the others had left.

“What is it, Arin?”

“Doctor, would you come down to my office? There’s something we should discuss.” He made a gesture with one hand, a bit of quarian sign language that I knew meant _danger._

“Can it wait until after the staff meeting?” I asked casually.

“I don’t think so,” he said soberly.

“All right.” I opened my omni-tool and sent a message to the other department heads, cancelling the meeting for the time being. “Lead on, then.”

Five minutes later I stood over a workbench in Quarian Central, looking through a microscope at . . . something. I saw a very small object, no more than two millimeters long, full of intricate structure, but it didn’t look like any machine I had ever seen before. It resembled a lump of pollen or a tiny seed-pod more than anything else.

“All right, Arin, you’ve managed to puzzle me. What is it?”

“It’s the listening device I found planted in my office.”

I rose from the instrument and stared at him wide-eyed.

“I got to thinking about what you said yesterday, about the possibility of Collector technology shared with the Shadow Broker or his agents. We suspect there’s a Shadow Broker mole in our organization, but we’ve never found him. Maybe one reason is because he’s using technology we weren’t set up to detect.”

“Like this.”

“Yes. It’s an astonishing piece of engineering,” said the quarian admiringly. “Adheres to a surface and blends in until it’s almost impossible to spot visually. Undetectable the standard sweep technologies. Seems to pick up audio with almost perfect fidelity. Then there’s the transmission mode. I can’t be sure, but I think it uses quantum entanglement to exfiltrate data.”

I shook my head in wonder. “That’s not possible. Nobody can build a QEC that small.”

Arin shrugged. “It’s at least _theoretically_ possible. A qubit can be stored in something as small as a single electron, after all. But no one I know of can do it. The smallest QEC I’ve ever heard of was still too big for one person to carry, and only had a capacity of a few kilo-qubytes. But we don’t know the limits to Collector capabilities.”

“True. How did you find this one?”

“I got some information about Collector materials technology while we were on Ferris Fields. They use some interesting ceramic-polymer hybrids that I’ve never seen before. I reset our bug-sweeping tools to scan for those and started looking around my office first. Didn’t take long.”

I glanced back at the microscope. “You can be sure this one is dead?”

“Now that I know what to look for, yes.”

“All right. Make this your top priority. Sweep the entire central office . . . but make it look like a routine sweep, and don’t destroy any of the devices you find, _except_ in the conference rooms. We need a space to talk securely, but I don’t want to reveal too much of what we know just yet. I’ll discreetly let the rest of the inner circle know what’s happening.”

“Understood, Doctor.”

In the course of that day, Arin found _twenty-three_ bugs in our central facility. Three of them were in my office. Over half were placed in our networks, and appeared to be monitoring data rather than audio.

Arin, Quintus, Vara and I did our best to give no sign that we suspected what was going on . . . but by the end of that day, all of us worked through a state of shock in the privacy of our thoughts. We now had to assume that the Shadow Broker knew almost _everything_ about T’Soni Analytics, possibly from the day we began operations. The potential damage was staggering.

* * *

“I don’t like this, _despoina_.”

I kept my eyes closed and held very still. Vara’s fingers were deft and precise on my face, but I didn’t want to give her any reason to fumble as she reconstructed Kalliste Renai’s markings. Besides, knowing how she felt about me was adding a disturbing element of sexual tension to the intimate task. “I know, Vara.”

“Using yourself as bait for this . . . _creature_.”

“We’ve been over this. We both know I’m the ultimate target in any case. If she can’t reach me, she will go after other members of the firm, and we can’t guard everyone indefinitely.” I felt my lips tense against my teeth. “I won’t have it. We go after this _ardat-yakshi_ , and if we can, we go after whoever is sponsoring her.”

“At least let me go with you.”

“You knew that won’t work. This thing is a clever and cautious predator. It won’t go after the strongest prey, the one most carefully guarded. It will choose the one that appears weakest, the one it can catch away from the rest of the flock.”

She drew back from me. I opened my eyes to look up into her face, tense with worry.

She laid a gentle hand on my left shoulder, where the medical monitor was still glowing against my bare skin. “Goddess, Liara. Three days ago you had ribs in your left lung, splinters threatening your heart, damage to your spine and your kidneys. You’re in no condition.”

I rested my other hand on hers for a moment. “I’m fine. The surgery was a success, the quick-heal is working, I’ve been getting healthy meals and at least some sleep. I can do this . . . and this way, if I make a mistake nobody pays for it but me.”

She sighed, resignation in her voice. “All right, _despoina_. I am sworn to carry your burdens.”

I stood and began to pull on my commando outfit. “Look on the bright side, Vara. One way or another, Kalliste Renai dies tonight.”

* * *

**_20 July 2185, Perikylos District, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

An asari mercenary went out on the streets of Nos Astra, flush with money from a grand score, loud in celebration, walking like a carnivore on the prowl. She showed herself to security cameras across half the city and attracted attention wherever she went. She drank, she gambled, she danced. She flirted outrageously and then slapped her would-be lovers down.

I acted the role of a lifetime, chewing the scenery and holding nothing back. If the invisible enemy didn’t know about Kalliste Renai’s true identity, I still wanted to tempt her into revealing herself. And if she _did_ know, I wanted her to think me an arrogant fool, too stupid to know what I might be calling down upon myself.

I hoped that last wasn’t the truth.

Close to midnight, my hunt finally succeeded. I washed up in a small night-club, a place popular with Eclipse commandos and other mercenaries. Liquor flowed freely, music blared with a driving bass rhythm, and the dancers were on the menu. I stalked in as if I owned the place, ordered a tumbler of neat whiskey, and scanned the floor.

When an asari appeared at the bar close by my side, I almost betrayed myself by jumping in surprise. She certainly had not been there a moment before, and I hadn’t seen her approach.

I glanced at her, top to bottom and back again. She certainly attracted the eye, a tall and slender matron, wearing a body-hugging dress in black silk, leaning on the bar in a pose of sensual grace. Her features seemed too strong for beauty, her cheekbones and jaw line very prominent, her large steel-gray eyes set deep under a formidable brow. She watched me in turn, her eyes alight with arrogant amusement.

I turned to lean on the bar, my drink in my free hand, mirroring her pose. “Well, well. _You_ look tasty enough.”

“Were you looking for some companionship this evening?” she asked. Goddess, that _voice_. Sha’ira herself wouldn’t have been able to pack so much raw suggestion into a simple sentence.

“Not really. Tonight’s for drinking and blowing a few thousand credits at the gaming tables. Trying to cram a good fuck into the ops plan would just be greed.” I took a large sip of my whiskey, feeling it burn all the way down. “Of course, I would never pass up a stroke of good fortune.”

“I see,” she murmured, smiling. “What’s your name?”

“Kalliste Renai. Ship’s captain, pirate, gun for hire, whatever else I can manage that pays well.”

“That’s not really your name, is it?”

“Of course not, but it will do.”

“My name is Morinth.”

“That’s not really _your_ name either, is it?”

“Of course not, but it will do as well.”

I grinned. “Couple of liars like us, what kind of trouble do you suppose we could get into?”

“Why don’t we discuss it?” she suggested. “There’s too much noise here, but I have a table over there in the corner.”

“No, I don’t think so.” Before I could think twice about it, I had thumped my drink down on the bar, leaned close, and kissed her hard on the lips. Method acting once more: I drew on all my memories of Shepard, my confusion about Vara, and threw all of it into that kiss. If a shudder ran down my spine, I hoped she would take it for excitement rather than revulsion.

“Why waste time?” I murmured once I broke away, our breath still mingling. “Life is too damn short.”

“An interesting sentiment,” she said quietly. “Not at all in character for an asari. It sounds more like something one of the short-lived races would say.”

“When you’ve had angry strangers trying to kill you, a thousand-year lifespan stops seeming like something you can take for granted.”

“To live in the moment,” she whispered, running a deft hand up my side, and then teasing at the folds of skin behind my neck. For a moment I wanted to pull away, but then the reaction faded and I felt a surge of arousal. “I rather like that.”

“It helps,” I said huskily. “Sometimes you need to be the first one with a gun in motion. You can’t hesitate.”

She smiled. For a moment she reminded me irresistibly of Jona Sederis . . . although Morinth wasn’t a slave to her own personal madness. It didn’t blind her to the world around her. She controlled it. She _used_ it. “Don’t lie to me,” she murmured. “It’s not just a necessity, is it?”

I thought fast, ignoring the tension in my belly, guessing what she might mean and how to respond. “I suppose not. There’s something about the look in their eyes when they know you have the advantage.”

“Yes. She knows you’re going to win, and she’s going to die. Nothing can compare to that moment.”

I snorted, trying to regain the upper hand. “Well, look at _you_ , talking like an ice-cold commando. How many times have _you_ ever had to shoot your way out of a bad situation?”

She gazed at me, her eyes alight. “Oh, _never_. I’m sure you’re _much_ better than I am . . . with a gun.”

“You have _that_ right.”

“Come on,” she said, leaning close to murmur in my aural cavity. Chills ran down my spine. “I’d love to hear about it . . . but not here. I have a place. It’s not far.”

Something wasn’t right. I no longer controlled the situation. I was _no longer acting_. A voice in the back of my mind shouted a warning.

A small voice. Easily ignored.

I followed Morinth, out of the club and into the brightly lit Nos Astra streets. My nerves hummed, from drink and a surge of raw lust. I had a hard time looking away from her shape as she moved just ahead of me, leading me to a place of her choosing.

_Shepard?_

Her eyes glanced back at me, light reflecting from them as if from the surface of a deep pool.

My hands tingled. I wanted to put them on her, tear away that silk gown and plunder the softness of her skin.

_I’m here._

_Shepard? How can you be here?_

Morinth smiled.

An alleyway, no lights but what reflected around the corner from the main street. I followed that black-clad shape and turned yet another corner into almost complete darkness. My boots splashed through a puddle of stagnant water. Shadows. A stale scent on the air.

Morinth stopped, turned to face me, barely visible in the gloom. I didn’t remember removing my gloves, but my bare hands dove under her dress, clawed at her skin. Nothing dulled the raw sensation of her warmth, the texture of the scales on her flanks. Her back slammed against the wall. She growled as I kissed and nibbled at her throat.

I closed my eyes.

Ugly face, broad shoulders, strong arms, beautiful crystal-blue eyes. His smile, so foolish out in the world, so tender for me in the privacy of our bed. His hands on me, mine on him. His mind, so deep and rich.

“ _Liara,” he whispered._

“ _I love you,” I told him. “I need you so much.”_

Through the cascade of sensations I heard a sound, an insistent whine from somewhere close by: _eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee . . ._

“ _Don’t worry,” he told me. “I’ll be with you soon enough. We’ll never be parted again.”_

Hands like claws at the back of my neck, on the base of my spine. Blue-white light in the darkness.

_Shepard rolled to loom over me, his weight pressing down on me as his tongue explored the space behind my collarbone. He rose up to whisper to me once again._

Incredible pain.

_EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE . . ._

“ _Nassana Dantius sends her regards,” he said_.

My eyes snapped open.

I no longer stood up under my own power. I hung limp in the _ardat-yakshi’s_ grasp, held upright by her strong arms and a nimbus of dark energy. Her lips lingered by my aural cavity, having just whispered her final gloating taunt. I felt _incredible_ pain where her hands clutched at my body. Another white-hot spike of agony hammered through my skull and impaled the base of my brain. I could feel a trickle of blood running from my nose. The medical monitor on my left shoulder _howled_ an alarm.

Morinth drew away slightly, looking into my eyes with just a hint of surprise.

From somewhere I called up the strength to fight back. “ _No!_ ” I screamed, breaking her grip and lashing out with my right hand. My nails raked across her cheek, leaving behind three parallel streaks of blood. Morinth recoiled with a snarl, letting me go. I stumbled a few steps away, collapsed on the ground, wiping at the blood on my face with the back of one hand.

She glared at me, dark power building around her. Her beauty vanished, twisted into ugly rage. “You little _bitch,_ ” she hissed.

Running footsteps, rapidly approaching from my right.

I swayed, tried to rise to my feet.

“ _Get away from her, you filthy creature!_ ”

Vara appeared out of nowhere, a combat knife in each hand, leaping to strike at the _ardat-yakshi_. She was fast, so graceful and fast, I could barely see her hands in motion. For an instant I thought nothing could possibly survive her onslaught.

Morinth dodged like a shadow. Vara missed, once, twice, then once more on a vicious backstroke.

Then the _ardat-yakshi_ produced an eruption of biotic force, knocking Vara off her feet. She flew backwards, and slammed into the opposite wall of the alley with a horrible _crunch_.

I _ignited_.

No conscious thought was involved. My corona simply _surged_ into existence. From near-complete darkness, the alley suddenly became lit as bright as day. I rose to my feet and began to walk toward the _ardat-yakshi._

Morinth snarled and hurled a bolt of telekinetic force, then another.

I gestured slightly with one hand, then the other, deflecting her attacks. Dimly, I heard the crash of stone walls shattering behind me. Then I clenched a fist and mimed an uppercut.

The _ardat-yakshi_ slammed a barrier into place . . . just a moment too late. She screamed in surprise as she flew back the length of the alley, tumbling head over heels, dark energy surging around her as she frantically tried to control her trajectory.

I followed. “No more.”

She landed on her feet, coiled like a serpent, watching me closely.

“Do you hear me, monster?” I filled my lungs to shout, clenched both fists. “No more!”

The sound echoed in the confined space.

I bore down on her. “No more lies. No more false friends just waiting to betray. No more murders in the dark. No more monsters lurking in the shadows to kill us all. _No more!”_

Morinth’s eyes widened. I saw it, that moment when she knew I was better and she was going to die.

My fists slammed together, in front of me and just below my eye level.

White light _detonated_. For some distance up the sides of the buildings around us, every window shattered, raining glass down into the alley. The concussion echoed like thunder across the face of Nos Astra.

An enormous wave of force rolled down on the _ardat-yakshi_. I saw a dark shape turn away, fleeing for its very life, a shell of dark energy wrapped around to conceal it from view. Then the biotic wave flashed across it, and it simply _vanished_ , the wall behind it collapsing in a chaos of dust and shattered glass. Electric charge scattered around me, grounding on every irregularity of the street and the walls, guttering away to nothingness. Then I heard only silence, broken by the sound of shards still pattering down, the distant wail of emergency vehicles.

I fell to my knees, panting, blind in the sudden darkness now that my corona had winked out. For a long minute I struggled just to remain conscious. If Morinth had returned, she could probably have killed me with the touch of one hand. But she didn’t return. For once the predator had met its match, had remembered what it meant to _fear_.

Suddenly I raised my head, struck by a sudden thought.

_Goddess. Vara._

I rose to my feet and stumbled as quickly as I could, back the way I had come.

She looked very small, lying motionless, a combat knife lying abandoned by her right hand, her legs half-buried by a pile of new rubble.

“No,” I whispered, and hurried over. I went to my knees again beside her, scrabbling at the fallen stone, checking for injuries. “No, no no no. Not you too. _Not you too_.”

Then she turned her head toward me, her face streaked with blood but her eyes suddenly wide. Alive. My heart seemed to stop.

“ _Despoina?_ ”

I wrapped my arms around her and finally broke down. The first-responders found me there a few minutes later, still holding her close and weeping.

* * *

**_21 July 2185, T’Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

I sat in a chair in Arin’s laboratory, still in my commando leathers, still covered in dust and blood. Painstakingly, using a small knife, I dug under the fingernails on my right hand.

Small scraps of bloody flesh went onto a clean glass slide. The slide went into a genetic sequencer. After a few moments of dull, exhausted waiting, a holographic window appeared and began to fill with data.

“Looks like a good reading,” said Arin quietly.

I glanced at the confidence level and nodded. “There’s some contamination from my own genome, and from the bacteria that always live under one’s nails, but that’s to be expected. There should be more than enough here to pursue a search.”

The quarian peered at me. “I have the access you wanted. It was one of the most difficult hacks I’ve ever carried out. You sure you want to risk this?”

“I’m sure.” I glanced at Arin. “Thank you. Go have an early breakfast or something. It’s best that you not be here to see what I’m going to do.”

He hesitated, but then nodded and left me alone in his lab.

I washed my hands, and then sat down at the computer console he had left open for me. A moment with my omni-tool downloaded the data from the genetic sequences, and then re-uploaded it to the system Arin had illegally accessed. I called for a database search.

Tens of thousands of light-years away, the top-level genetic archives of the Asari Republics responded.

_MIRALA, lineage T’SARIEN, born 1709 CE, pureblood, determined to possess the **ardat-yakshi**_ _disorder in its lethal variant 1749 CE, fugitive as of 1749 CE, current location unknown._

I recorded that result. Detective Anaya would probably be able to use it, along with the other evidence I could turn over to her, to finally force her superiors to act. If the _ardat-yakshi_ still lived, she would soon find Nos Astra too dangerous a hunting ground. The police might even find and arrest her, although I doubted that.

I tapped at the console again, backing up a generation in Mirala’s family tree.

_SAMARA, lineage T’SARIEN, born 1296 CE, pureblood, bonded 1695 CE to RHYDIS XENTHISSA, had the following issue:_

_RILA, lineage T’SARIEN, born 1705 CE, pureblood, determined to possess the **ardat-yakshi** disorder in its lethal variant 1749 CE, sequestered 1749 CE._

_MIRALA, lineage T’SARIEN, born 1709 CE, pureblood, determined to possess the **ardat-yakshi** disorder in its lethal variant 1749 CE, fugitive as of 1749 CE, current location unknown._

_FALERE, lineage T’SARIEN, born 1713 CE, pureblood, determined to possess the **ardat-yakshi**_ _disorder in its lethal variant 1749 CE, sequestered 1749 CE._

A moment’s curiosity led me to check another record.

_RHYDIS, lineage XENTHISSA, born 1288 CE, pureblood, bonded 1695 CE to SAMARA T’SARIEN, no issue, died 1755 CE._

Even through my exhaustion, I felt a pang of sadness. Rhydis Xenthissa must have carried a mild form of the _ardat-yakshi_ disorder. Then some quirk of genetics had caused all three of her daughters by Samara T’Sarien to possess the _lethal_ form of the disease. Two daughters condemned to life in the monastery, the third a fugitive and potential mass murderer? I suspected the poor asari’s untimely death had not been an accident.

_Samara still lives._

I went back to her record . . . and stopped dead, staring at it.

_Postulant to the Justicar Order 1755 CE. Sworn and ordained 1774 CE._

Mirala’s mother was a _justicar?_

After a moment’s consideration, I thought I understood. When Mirala fled into hiding, her mother must have _known_ what would happen. Sooner or later, Mirala would kill, and Samara felt responsible. No doubt the sudden death of her bondmate had only confirmed her commitment.

I shook my head, considering how much tragedy could be interpolated into a few dry lines of data.

I sat back in Arin’s chair for a long time. Then I opened my omni-tool, taking care to access the extranet directly and not through the compromised T’Soni Analytics network.

_Dr. Liara T’Soni to the Justicar Samara, respectful greetings. It may interest you to know that Mirala T’Sarien has been seen here on Illium. The evidence is not conclusive, but it seems likely that she is responsible for several deaths here, including the death of one who was important to me. Should you wish to pursue this matter, I am at your disposal._

I hesitated for a moment. Inviting the scrutiny of a justicar carried certain risks, especially given my current profession and past actions. I suspected that the Justicar’s Code might classify me as _unjust_. Then I shook my head wearily and hit the _send_ key.

I found myself staring at Arin’s terminal again, struggling with temptation. Now that I had committed the highly illegal act of breaking into the genetic archives, I found myself wishing to see one more record.

I tapped at the keyboard once more. The Matriarch’s Seal appeared for a moment, but Arin had found an administrative code that would deal with that obstacle.

_BENEZIA, lineage T’SONI, born 1185 CE, bonded 1975 CE to AETHYTA MELANIS, had the following issue:_

_LIARA, lineage T’SONI, born 2077 CE, pureblood . . ._

I stared at the screen for what felt like a very long time.

_Aethyta Melanis_.

Matriarch Aethyta was my father.


	36. Fermata

**_21 July 2185, T’Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

I felt nothing but relief to have Kalliste Renai’s markings removed from my face, her coloring removed from my skin. In my office I stripped down, tossed her commando leathers into a waste-bin, and took a lengthy shower in my private refresher. Once I had washed away the dirt, sweat, and lingering sense of Morinth’s touch, I felt much better.

Once I had toweled dry, I paused to look at myself in the full-length mirror.

I hardly recognized the asari in the glass. She seemed the right size and shape, she looked as trim and fit as I had forced myself to be . . . but she was much too pale. Her eyes looked huge and sunken in their sockets, and I saw something in them I did not like.

I reached out and touched the smooth glass, as if to touch the face of the asari on the other side.

“You’ve broken yourself, haven’t you?” I whispered. “Played the part of a criminal and a killer too often. It’s becoming hard to tell the difference between the mask and your true face.”

_Feron struggled in the grip of a salarian twice his size. I turned my back on him and fled._

_Eclipse tried to seize control of a colony. I lied, cheated, and bluffed my way to their defeat, putting the lives of ordinary citizens at risk in order to win._

_An Illium Defense Force starship appeared on the targeting screen. I ordered our weapons to fire._

_I entered a nest of pirates, and then I set them at one another’s throats so I could escape, leaving their victims undefended._

_I stood and watched, and did nothing, as a Matriarch killed her own daughter in cold blood._

_I destroyed a mining facility with nuclear fire, and then led its owner to believe her own kin responsible._

_An Eclipse sister stood before me, vicious, cruel, and terribly young. I took a pistol and executed her._

_I walked blindly into a trap. Two of my people died. One of them was my best friend’s bondmate._

_I walked into another trap, this time quite deliberately. An asari who loved me almost died._

_I tried to mate with an asari, a complete stranger, in a dingy little alley. I wanted to do it._

The images hung in my mind, and yet the asari in the glass seemed utterly unmoved. She only stared back at me with wide eyes, one hand still raised to touch mine.

_Odd, how it doesn’t show. All I can see is fatigue, and the after-effects of severe injury._

_I suppose it’s just as well. It’s not a mask. This is who I am now: a criminal and a killer, light-years out of my depth. What in the name of the Goddess ever made me think I could oppose the Reapers, with nothing but money and information and political leverage . . . and do it without damning myself?_

My hand dropped to my side. In the face in the mirror, I saw a sudden flare of determination.

_You can’t stop now. Bad enough to damn yourself to save the galaxy, far worse to damn yourself and **fail**. Now someone arguably even worse than you still stands in your way, sending assassins out after you and your people. Time to end it, once and for all. Even if it means using her own methods against her._

I turned my back on the mirror, dressed, and walked down to the small conference room. I knew that Arin had just swept the room again for Collector-tech listening devices. For the moment, I could treat it as a secure space. More secure than my office.

I sat down, opened a computer console, and went to work. First I tackled the financial aspect of the task. I contacted the Bank of Illium, paid the exorbitant fee to create a numbered escrow account, and then moved fifty million credits. I found myself having to back up and re-key commands, double-checking every step of the way to make sure I hadn’t made a foolish error. It would have been easier with Aspasia to help, but she was still at home resting and I didn’t want her to know about this for the time being.

Then I verified that I had a secure channel, not compromised by any of the Shadow Broker’s monitoring devices, and placed an extranet call.

The call took about ten minutes to go through, and when the connection finally came up, I got only audio. None of this surprised me.

“Please state your business,” said a smooth asari-like voice that I guessed belonged to a VI.

“Bank of Illium, account number five-zero-zero-nine-two-one-six-zero-four-seven-nine-five. Code word _dematheroskolios_.”

More waiting. Then another voice came on the line, deeper, with an odd rumble in it, as if it emerged from an alien set of vocal organs. “You have my attention,” said the voice calmly. “What is the location and identity of the proposed target?”

“Nos Astra, on Illium,” I responded. “The proposed target’s name is Nassana Dantius. She is a local corporate executive.”

“I see.” A long silence followed, broken by the faint sound of fingers on a keyboard. “Yes, I think I understand. Do you have any allegations regarding the proposed target’s activities that are not a matter of public record?”

I opened my omni-tool and downloaded a set of files to the console. “My dossier on her is quite extensive. Transmitting now.”

“Thank you.”

This time the pause went on for a long time. I counted a little over ten minutes before the voice spoke again. At that, I felt impressed at his ability to quickly absorb complex material.

“I see,” said the voice at last. Silence, for a few moments. “There is a circumstance of which you should be aware. I am preparing for retirement. In fact, I had not planned to accept any further commissions.”

“If you are unwilling to accept . . .”

“I _will_ accept this commission,” the voice interrupted. “It is simply that you should not expect to be able to offer me another. I tell you this only because I believe I can guess your identity, and I do not wish to deal with you unfairly. Do you still wish to proceed?”

“I understand,” I said calmly. “Thank you. Yes, I wish to proceed.”

“Then you will be contacted if I need any further information,” said the voice. The channel closed.

I sat there for a moment, considering all the implications, and then I stood to return to my office and begin the day’s work. I felt some satisfaction, knowing that Nassana Dantius was a dead asari walking.

* * *

I made it through the morning staff meeting. I made it through over an hour of conference calls. I began to think that I might make it through the entire day. Then an old acquaintance called.

It came over an odd channel, not from our usual extranet service providers. When I accepted the call, a triple-wide window appeared over my desk. I saw an outdoor scene on some distant planet – green and blue vegetation, blue sky with sun overhead, a paved floor, symmetrically arranged columns, no roof. I immediately recognized the context: a Prothean site, rather like the one I had discovered on Eletania.

In the midst of the site stood a squad of human soldiers, Alliance Marines in medium to heavy armor, armed and apparently ready for combat. Their leader was one of the biggest male humans I had ever seen, so massively broad-shouldered that he would have made Shepard look frail in comparison.

With them stood a single asari: Treeya Nuwani.

Treeya had been one of my students, and I served as one of her academic advisors, in the years when I worked as a resident professor at the University of Serrice. I remembered her showing promise as an archaeologist, although she eventually took her doctorate in xenopsychology and non-asari cultural studies. We had barely spoken in almost a decade, so I had to wonder what led her to call.

“Dr. Nuwani,” I greeted her. “It’s good to see you.”

The young scientist smiled at me. “You as well, Dr. T’Soni. I have found an unknown object in the Prothean ruins on Fehl Prime, and wanted to get your input.”

A window appeared next to Treeya’s image: a picture of an unfamiliar object, and a waterfall of sensor data. I leaned forward and examined her results closely. “Hmm. Well, it’s not Prothean, I can tell you that. In fact, it doesn’t match anything I’ve ever seen.”

Treeya nodded. “Based on the cursory inspection I’ve given it so far, these are some _very_ advanced bio-mechanics.”

“This could be Reaper technology,” I suggested. “You are familiar with the Reaper hypothesis?”

“ _I’m_ not familiar with it,” said the burly Marine officer.

_Goddess, has the Alliance done **nothing** to get the word out to its people?_

“The Reapers are a race of sentient starships that have marked all other intelligent life for destruction,” I explained. “The ship that attacked the Citadel two years ago – _Sovereign_ – was one of them.”

The Marine turned to Treeya. “Don’t tell me you _believe_ that.”

Treeya shook her head skeptically. “With all due respect, Doctor, the Council found that ship to be nothing more than a dreadnought, piloted by the geth and a rogue Spectre.”

I leaned close, _willing_ her to understand, to believe. “I was _there_ , Treeya. I saw it, and heard it speak. The Reapers destroyed the Prothean civilization fifty thousand years ago, and now they are planning to return. The Council may have willfully blinded themselves to the truth, but you and I are scientists. We need to keep our eyes open.”

“What evidence do you have?” demanded Treeya . . . but suddenly her image began to break up.

A thought occurred to me, something she had said a moment before that I had missed at the time. “Dr. Nuwani? _Where_ did you say you found this artifact?”

The image was decaying by the moment, and the audio was filled with chop. I could barely make out part of her response: “. . . Fehl Prime . . .”

_Fehl Prime. Right off Tana’s target list._

I abruptly stood behind my desk, leaning close and shouting into the pickup. “Treeya, you and the humans must get clear. Fehl Prime may be under attack!”

Nothing but static.

“ _Treeya!_ ” I slapped the intercom key. “Vara! Who do we have on Fehl Prime?”

 _“One moment . . . Operative Mendez has been stationed there ever since we became aware of the Collector attacks.”_ Her voice went suddenly tense with concern. _“ **Despoina**? What’s wrong?”_

“Get a signal to Operative Mendez, _right now_. I fear the Collectors are about to hit Fehl Prime.”

_“Yes, **despoina** , immediately.”_

I sat down again, ignoring the way my legs had gone watery and my hands shook. I punched in the code for Councilor Anderson’s office on the Citadel.

It took two minutes, then three. “Come on, come _on . . ._ ”

A very young Alliance officer appeared on the screen. _“Councilor Anderson’s office.”_

“This is Dr. Liara T’Soni on Illium. Recognition code seven-nine-three- _alpha_ , crash priority.”

Something in the female human’s face made me suspect that I looked less than perfectly sane. _“I’m sorry, Doctor, but the Council is in closed session. May I take a message?”_

“I repeat, recognition code _seven-nine-three-alpha, crash priority_.”

_“All due respect, ma’am, I won’t interrupt the Councilor just because you say so.”_

“ _What is your name?_ ” I asked, very coldly and clearly.

Her face hardened. _“Lieutenant Jeanne Kwan, Alliance Navy.”_

“Well, _Lieutenant Jeanne Kwan_ , if you do not _immediately_ inform Councilor Anderson that the colony world of Fehl Prime may _at this moment_ be under attack by the Collectors, and tell him where you got this information, I will see you _broken_.”

She cut the connection.

I sat there, staring at the blank screen, for perhaps five seconds.

Then another comm line opened up with a small _chirp_. Vara’s voice. _“ **Despoina** . . . I’m sorry. I can’t get a connection through to Fehl Prime or Operative Mendez. Arin’s trying too, but he has no bandwidth to the colony.”_

I rose to my feet and _screamed_.

“ ** _Despoina_** _?_ ”

A two-fisted blow, ablaze with dark energy, shattered my desk into a dozen pieces. I picked up the largest shard and flung it across the room to crash into the opposite wall. A telekinetic wave sent my couch and side table spinning through the air. “Damn them! Damn the Council, damn the Alliance, damn the Shadow Broker, damn Cerberus, damn the Collectors, damn the Reapers, _Goddess damn them all to the abyss!_ ”

Then, quite suddenly, the world faded out and I saw nothing but darkness.

* * *

**_21 July 2185, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

Pale light shone through my closed eyelids, and I heard the sound of water.

I lay on my back in a soft bed. I dimly sensed that I was nude, but a light cover had been spread over me, and my head rested on soft pillows. It felt so quiet and peaceful, I wanted to lie there forever. The minor mystery of how I had gotten there was not interesting enough to hold my attention. Then I remembered those last moments in my office. Despite myself, I moaned quietly.

“ _Despoina?_ ”

I opened my eyes. I was in my own apartment, in my own bed, up in the loft with the light from the fish-tank shining down on me. Vara was a few meters away, setting aside a book and rising from a chair, watching me with a guarded expression.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Strange,” I said. My throat was desert-dry. I coughed to clear it. “What is the time?”

“Half past eighteen. You’ve been out for almost eight hours.”

“Since I’m not in a hospital, I assume my condition isn’t too grave.”

She sat down on the edge of the bed, capturing my left hand and pressing her fingertips to the pulse point. “That would be a poor assumption. Aspasia and I decided to bring you here because we didn’t trust security at the hospital.”

“Aspasia?”

“I consulted with her. She authorized me to act as head of the firm while you are both on leave.”

I closed my eyes again. “Good. I concur.”

“ _Despoina_. . . Liara. There’s something we need to discuss.”

I took a deep breath, somehow knowing that I wouldn’t like the subject. “Go ahead.”

“We did take you to be _examined_ at the hospital. The physician wanted us to put you in intensive care.”

I made a small chuckle and opened my eyes again. “That bad?”

“That bad.” She shook her head in dismay. “Maybe it was the fight with that _beast_ last night, maybe it was an aftereffect of your injuries on Ferris Fields, more likely it was both. Your internal bleeding had started again, you showed signs of a serious infection, and you were in a state of severe neural shock. The physician seemed surprised that you managed to stay on your feet as long as you did.”

“I don’t have time to play the invalid.”

“You utter _fool_ ,” she said, for an instant livid with rage.

I stared at her.

“You are not _playing the part_ of an invalid, Liara T’Soni, you _are_ an invalid. Get out of that bed, get back into the kind of activity you have been engaging in for the last few days, and you are quite likely to _drop stone dead_. You need several days of antibiotics, quick-heal, medication to reinforce your nervous system, healthy food, and _rest_. Rest meaning plenty of sleep, _possibly_ some light entertainment, and _absolutely no work_.”

I blinked in surprise. “Vara, do you know that you would make a superb parent?”

“Do not _even_ go there with me, Liara.” But she smiled slightly as she said it.

For a moment, I seriously considered refusing her help . . . but I could see she was adamant, and an angry Vara was not something I felt strong enough to confront just then. “All right. How long did the physician say I needed to rest?”

“Seven days,” she said at once, but I could tell she shaded the truth.

“Three days,” I told her.

“I will strap you into this bed with my bare hands,” she threatened. “Five days.”

“Four days, and I want you to come here every evening and give me an executive summary of the day’s events.”

“Done. I plan to spend my nights here anyway, just to make sure you stay out of trouble.”

I closed my eyes again and took a deep breath, suddenly very aware of her physical presence close to me. “I’m not certain that’s a good idea.”

“Don’t be absurd,” she snapped, angry once again. “The last thing you need right now is to be carrying on a liaison with _anyone_. Not to mention that it would tarnish my honor to take such advantage of you. I can sleep on the couch downstairs.”

“I’m sorry, Vara.” I solemnly looked up at her face. “I would be happy to have you here. I must admit, I think I will need the help.”

She nodded firmly. “Good. You’re finally seeing sense.”

“We’ll see if you still feel that way the first time you have to help me to the refresher.”

Vara rolled her eyes in exasperation. “I do have _some_ good news for you.”

Something in her voice made me shift over onto my side, rise up on one elbow, and watch her closely. “What is it?”

“Today we got reports from some of our informants on Omega. They say a starship has been sighted in the docks there. _Normandy_.”

 _That_ got my undivided attention. “How is that possible? I was there when the Collectors destroyed _Normandy_. I examined the wreckage on Alchera. There must be some mistake.”

“That’s what I thought as well. I queried back to get verification. Apparently this is _not_ the same ship you traveled on with Commander Shepard. It’s of a similar class and has a similar structure . . . but this ship is significantly larger, it’s pinging Terminus Systems rather than Alliance registry, and it’s painted with Cerberus colors.”

“ _Goddess_.” I felt a wild smile spread across my face as I thought through the implications. “Cerberus built a new _Normandy_. Three guesses who they selected to command her.”

Vara smiled as well, the expression somewhat conflicted but still genuine. “Yes. He has been seen, Liara, on Omega. Conferring with Aria T’Loak. Recruiting specialists for his team. Buying advanced technology in the markets. Rumors are spreading across the Terminus Systems and beyond, spreading like wildfire, that Commander Shepard is alive.”

“He’s going after the Collectors. It can’t be anything else.” I reached out and gripped her shoulder gently. “Vara, we _have_ to contact him. I don’t know why Cerberus has shut me out, but we have to break through to them. Whatever they’ve been in the past, whatever they may be in the future, if they’re opposing the Collectors _right now_ , then we _must_ strike some kind of agreement with them.”

She nodded reluctantly. “We don’t have a lot of choice for allies at the moment. Much as it revolts me to be working with _this_ one.”

“Good, I’m glad you agree. Here’s what I want you to do, then, while Aspasia and I are away from the office . . .”


	37. Interlude

**_22 July 2185, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

Vara was as good as her word.

That evening she cooked a meal, and brought it upstairs so we could eat together over a side table. Then she helped me into the refresher and waited nearby, while I attended to my physical needs and took a shower. Much to my chagrin, I found I _needed_ the help; I was as weak as an infant _ailouros_.

When I emerged, she saw me back in bed, administered my medications, and sat close by to talk until I fell asleep once more. At which point – although I did not learn this for many years – she watched me sleep for almost an hour, with a rueful smile on her face. Then she went downstairs to shower, change, and stretch out on my couch.

In the morning, she woke me for a light meal and another round of medications. Then she set a carafe of ice water on the side table, dropped a datapad next to me for entertainment, gave me a stern lecture about staying in bed and avoiding stress, and left my apartment. Off for her first full day as the acting CEO of T’Soni Analytics.

I feared that being confined to my apartment, much less to my _bed,_ would have me climbing the walls within hours. As it happened, I spent most of that day sleeping. Perhaps Vara had put something in my medications. Or perhaps I _had_ been driving myself much too hard.

By mid-afternoon I had finally slept enough. I considered padding downstairs to use my office terminal for a while. The mere thought of Vara’s wrath, if she returned and found me there, was enough to dissuade me. Instead I propped myself up with pillows, picked up the data pad, and logged into the extranet. If I couldn’t think about work, I could at least catch up on my scientific journals.

I was deeply engrossed in a paper on the _inusannon_ ruins on Sedna Prime when the front door opened. “I’m home!” Vara called.

Within moments I found myself out of bed, wrapped in a white silk tunic, and leaning over the railing to look down into the living area. “Good evening. What news from the office?”

She put fists on hips and glared up at me. “You should be in bed.”

“I’ve been good, Vara. Did you bring anything for dinner? I’m starving.”

She smiled and climbed the stairs to the loft. Once she arrived she inspected me up and down, opening her omni-tool to perform a medical scan. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better, actually. The sleep did me a lot of good.”

“My scan agrees with you. Still no internal bleeding, infection is much reduced, your metabolism seems to have mostly recovered, your nervous system likewise. It’s a start.” She closed the omni-tool and smiled at me. “Come downstairs and I’ll put together some dinner. Shellfish and _kostai_ -grain, some freshly baked bread with _elaion_ , a bottle of Armali red, and since you hate coffee so much I stocked up on that sweet human drink you like for dessert.”

I stuck my tongue out at the thought of drinking _coffee_ – for _dessert_ , no less – but I gladly followed Vara down into the kitchen.

“What progress can you report?” I asked as she puttered around the stove.

“Well, Arin’s team went around the office and stepped on every one of those Collector-tech bugs,” she said. “I haven’t seen that quarian so happy in months. _About time we stopped pretending to be a pack of idiots,_ was his remark.”

I shrugged, enjoying the cooking smells emanating from Vara’s work. “Well, it tips our hand to the Shadow Broker, but I’ve had no luck finding the mole through traditional methods. Maybe it’s time for us to put on some pressure and see if the mole makes a mistake.”

“Your problem, _despoina_ , is that you think about some things too much.”

“I’m not sure that’s a problem. If I hadn’t thought things through a few months ago, I might have concluded that _you_ were the mole.”

“Point taken. Here’s dinner.”

We ate in companionable silence for a time. I discovered Vara actually had some skill as a cook, if not _quite_ up to my standard. Afterward she brewed a cup of _coffee_ for herself and handed me a mug of hot chocolate, with the little white _marshmallows_ in it. I took a deep sip and closed my eyes, groaning slightly in ecstasy.

“Well. I really must remember how to get _that_ reaction from you.”

I gave her a quelling glance, but I could see she wasn’t being serious. At least not _too_ serious. “So where _were_ all the bugs?”

She leaned back in her chair and made a counting-on-her-fingers gesture. “Three in your office, two each in Aspasia’s office, Nyxeris’s office, and my office, two in each of the conference rooms . . .”

“Even after Arin swept them earlier?” I interrupted.

“Apparently. Arin says they were new placements.”

I frowned. “Do we have any idea who has been in the conference rooms since the last sweep?”

“Unfortunately, the list is far too long to do us any good. People use those rooms for meetings all day.”

I nodded. “All right, go on.”

“One each in Arin’s office and Quintus’s office, four scattered around the Analysis watch floor, and eight more buried in our networks as data taps.”

“That’s . . . twenty-seven. _More_ than Arin found on his first sweep.”

“Someone’s been very busy,” Vara agreed. “Arin decided to boost physical security on the network core, installing some new code-locks and a set of cutting-edge surveillance cameras. If anyone tries to install new bugs in the core, we have a chance of stopping them or figuring out who it is.”

“That makes sense. The network core is already off-limits to most of the firm outside of Arin’s team.” I shrugged and took another sip of my chocolate. “A clever mole will find a way around that, especially if she has access to other Collector technology as well.”

“The more often we can force the mole to be clever, the more chance we have of finding her.”

“True. What about Quintus’s mission?” I asked.

“He left for Earth today with his team,” she said soberly. “That’s a dangerous assignment, _despoina_.”

“I know. It can’t be helped.”

* * *

**_23 July 2185, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

The second day felt a little more _normal_ , even if I did lounge in bed almost the entire day. I felt strong enough to care for myself, so I got up from time to time and prepared a mid-day meal on my own. I was still sleeping more hours than not, giving in to my body’s wisdom and demands for rest.

Vara looked . . . I suppose the best word is _distracted_ , when she arrived in the evening. As I reached the bottom of the stairs she greeted me with a brief embrace and a bemused frown.

“ _Despoina_ , I’m not certain how to ask this, but did you hire an _assassin_ recently?”

“I take it Thane Krios arrived on Illium today.”

“More than _arrived_ ,” she said. “He simply _appeared_ in my office this afternoon. Without, I might add, doing any of the mundane things one would expect along the way. Such as reporting to the front-door checkpoint, or taking the lifts up to the main office floor. Quintus’s people are still clawing the furniture trying to figure out how he did it.”

“Well, he _is_ possibly the best in the galaxy at his trade. Did he cause any trouble?”

“Apart from the mode of his arrival, no. In fact, he was extremely polite. He presented a code word from you, asked for a few specific pieces of intelligence regarding Nassana Dantius, and then departed. Again without bothering to use the front door.”

I had to smile. “I see. Please convey my apologies to Security, and tell them not to discuss the incident with anyone.”

“Already done. May we return to the subject at hand, which is _my principal hiring an assassin?_ ”

“It’s necessary, Vara. Nassana Dantius has attacked us one time too many, through her proxies in Eclipse, and more recently through that _ardat-yakshi_. She is untouchable through normal methods. As my human friends would probably say, _I have had enough of her bullshit._ ”

“I’m surprised, _despoina_ , but I think I approve.” She turned to head for the kitchen. “A rich salad tonight, I think, with meat shavings and a creamy sauce, and a Serrice white on the side.”

“That sounds wonderful.” I followed her into the kitchen, to sit at the table and watch her work over our meal.

“The _identity_ of your assassin surprised me a great deal as well,” said Vara as she washed raw ingredients and fed them into the food processor. “I was under the impression that Thane had retired.”

“He is _about_ to retire, from what he told me, but he accepted my commission anyway. I think the sheer scope of Nassana’s corruption impressed him.”

“So it’s true then? He only accepts commissions to kill . . . well. _Evil_ people.”

“So it would seem. Evil being measured by his standards, of course, but for an assassin he seems to have a finely developed moral sense. Rumor has it that he gives away most of his fees to various charitable foundations.”

“Very odd behavior for a hired killer.” Vara approached our table with two bowls of salad in her hands, a bottle of wine tucked into the corner of her arm. “I hope he succeeds.”

Later the two of us sat together on the couch, drinking more wine and watching one of Vara’s favorite historical-fantasy serials. She regaled me with the back-story of all the characters. They seemed to be engaged in an epic war involving at least seven major factions, while carrying on a constant flow of intrigue and backstabbing. I shook my head in exasperation at the inaccuracy of architecture and costuming, and the sheer number of sexual liaisons going on among the cast of characters. On the other hand, the battle scenes _were_ quite impressive.

When the comm in my office buzzed for attention, Vara rose to answer it. I fully expected her to take a message and return to the living room, but instead she called for me. “ _Despoina_ , I think you will want to take this one.”

A familiar human face appeared on the screen. Councilor Anderson.

For an instant, I felt severely tempted to turn my back and walk away. For only an instant. Then I finished walking stiffly over to my desk, and sank into the chair. Perhaps it was the expression on his face, a mix of compassion and faint embarrassment.

“Dr. T’Soni. I understand you’ve been recovering from severe injuries . . . and in spite of that, you tried to contact me two days ago.”

“That’s correct, Councilor.”

“You have my personal apologies for what happened. I want to assure you that my office and the Alliance still value the intelligence you provide. That’s why I gave you the priority code you tried to use.”

“The code which _did not work_ ,” I observed.

“. . . Yes. That was, shall we say, _not a career-enhancing moment_ for Lieutenant Kwan. You will not be dealing with her again. Unless you have some reason to contact the Argus Array facility at McMurdo Station.”

I blinked, not quite understanding his reference. “In which star system is this station located?”

“You misunderstand, Doctor. It’s a ground installation. On Earth. _In Antarctica_.”

Understanding dawned, and a certain amount of bitter amusement. “I see. May I ask what has happened on Fehl Prime?”

Anderson’s face became grim. “An Alliance task force arrived there this morning. The colony is gone.”

I slumped, covering my eyes with my hands.

In the darkness, Anderson’s deep voice was a lifeline. “Doctor, I think you’re aware that we had a small Marine garrison posted to the colony. They didn’t get caught in the Collectors’ initial sweep. They fought the Collectors, even managed to destroy the Collector ship, and they captured a wealth of intelligence.”

I glanced up. “They _destroyed_ the ship?”

“The cost was terrible. We lost the colony to the last man, woman, and child . . . but yes, for once we _hurt_ those bastards. There were three survivors: two of the Marines, and your friend Dr. Nuwani.”

“I’m glad _some_ good came of this,” I said wearily.

Anderson nodded. “I know it feels ridiculous to call this a victory, but it’s as close as we’ve come so far. There’s more. The senior surviving officer, a Lieutenant Vega, has already filed his initial report. He says that Dr. Nuwani was conferring with you at the moment the Collectors attacked. Just as communications went out, they caught what sounded like a warning from you. It put them on their guard. Lieutenant Vega says they might not have done even as well as they did without that.”

I remembered the burly Marine who had been standing with Treeya when she called. He had not impressed me at the time, but it seemed he had done better on Fehl Prime than I had on Ferris Fields.

“Thank you, Councilor,” I said sincerely.

“There’s another matter I wanted to discuss,” said Anderson. “Is this channel secure on your end?”

“As secure as my office would be.” _Possibly more so_ , I didn’t say aloud.

His eyes flickered to where Vara stood.

“This is Vara T’Rathis, Councilor, the head of my Collection department since Yevgeni Stoletov was killed in action on Ferris Fields. She is my right hand.”

“I see. Then I’ll get straight to the point. What do you know about Commander Shepard’s activities?”

“Not as much as I would like,” I told him. “If you are asking _is it really him_ , I can’t be sure. He has not contacted me, and I’m concerned about that. But it is certainly possible.”

“Working for _Cerberus?_ ”

I took a deep breath and nodded. “I have some hope that it’s a question of working _with_ Cerberus, Councilor; a temporary alliance that will permit him to use their resources to oppose the Reapers. If it truly is the Shepard that we knew, he will not uncritically follow the Illusive Man’s lead . . . and he may end by forcing the Illusive Man to follow _his_.”

“Doctor, you know I’ll give Shepard every benefit of the doubt. But my colleagues on the Council are _not_ happy about this. The word _treason_ has been spoken in closed session.”

“Admiral, I _sincerely_ hope that the Council is not planning to take any action on that idea, at least not until we can determine the _facts_.” I gave him my best icy stare. “I would not like to put myself in open opposition to the Council, along with the Shadow Broker and the Collectors . . . but I will if I must.”

Anderson’s face froze into an expressionless mask. “You have my word, I’ll do everything in my power to prevent my colleagues from taking any ill-advised action. Please do the same on your end.”

“Certainly. So long as you understand where the line is located, past which _I will not be pushed._ ”

“I understand you quite clearly, Doctor.” Anderson hesitated, and now his face was warm and mobile once more, the face of a parent worried about his son. “If you _do_ see him or speak to him, and it _is_ the man we both knew . . . tell him to come in out of the cold.”

“I will.”

Anderson nodded and cut the connection.

Vara’s arms slipped around my shoulders from behind, and she held me close for a long minute. I permitted my head to fall back and rest against her shoulder, and closed my eyes.

“You see, _despoina?_ ” she said quietly after a time. “You _did_ have an effect on Fehl Prime. We aren’t laboring entirely in vain.”

“I suppose not. It certainly feels that way at times.” I sighed. “I’m very tired, Vara. Perhaps we should call it a night.”

* * *

**_24 July 2185, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

By the next day, I had recovered enough that Vara agreed to let me access reports from the office. I think she felt willing to put up with a half-dozen datapads, so long as I stayed in bed with them.

Suddenly Shepard seemed to be _everywhere_.

It began with the Omega sightings. These appeared reliable. Verified reports had the new _Normandy_ docked at Omega for almost four days. Shepard was repeatedly seen with two other humans, almost certainly Miranda Lawson and Jacob Taylor.

The three of them apparently began by involving themselves in a gangster alliance’s final assault against a famous Omega vigilante. I had often heard of _Archangel_ and his battle against the mercenary gangs infesting Omega, and had wondered about his true identity. Now his campaign had apparently ended. While public news reports claimed Archangel had been killed, one of our informants clearly saw Shepard and his team returning to _Normandy_ with a critically injured turian in tow. I surmised that if the _Normandy_ had competent medical staff on hand, Archangel still lived.

Then Shepard descended into the plague-ridden Gozu district, where he defeated the Blue Suns and Blood Pack gangsters who had overrun the area. Then he helped Mordin Solus distribute a cure for the plague, after which the salarian scientist also accepted a berth aboard _Normandy._ Vara called Omega and spoke to Mordin’s human assistant, who verified that the salarian had left with Shepard only a few days before.

After _Normandy_ left Omega, Shepard’s trail became very hard to follow. It wasn’t a matter of his dropping out of sight. Instead, he was seen in widely separated places, and some of the sightings had to be mutually exclusive. He could not be rescuing workers from a burning refinery on Zorya, within an hour of raiding a batarian outpost on Klensal. He could not be carousing in a spaceport bar on Aite, at the same time that he was smashing a mercenary base on Korlus.

As the day passed, the data-pads piled up on the sheets beside me. Slowly I pieced together a hypothesis as to Shepard’s purpose. When he was seen on Zorya, it was in the company of _Zaeed Massani_ , of all people. The sighting on Korlus took place in a Blue Suns facility, where the infamous warlord Okeer performed genetic experiments on cloned krogan. The timing of these two sightings exactly fit the optimum travel time through the mass-relay network between Zorya and Korlus. Combine both of those incidents with Shepard’s efforts on Omega, and it suggested he was _building a team_.

It fit his usual pattern. In his fight against Saren, Shepard _started_ with an all-human Alliance crew, but he took pains to recruit and use the best non-human talent he could find. Now he had a Cerberus crew, but three of his first four recruits were a salarian, a turian, and a krogan. I counted that as evidence of the old Shepard at work, not a poor imitation steeped in the human-supremacist ideology of Cerberus.

The details of the incident on Zorya also eased my mind. Within hours of the battle at the petroleum refinery, one of my agents interviewed the rescued workers. Nyxeris used those reports to assemble a clear picture of the sequence of events. Apparently Shepard and Massani had engaged in a dispute as to the objective of their mission. Massani’s original contract had been to rescue the workers from their Blue Suns captors, but he had ignored that in favor of pursuing an old grudge against the mercenary leader, a man named Vido Santiago. During the initial assault on the refinery, Massani had managed to _set the whole place on fire._ Yet Shepard had brought Massani back under control, insisted on rescuing the workers, and convinced the mercenary to fall in line, even after Santiago escaped. One witness had seen Shepard and Massani shouting at each other at mutual gunpoint. Yet Massani had stood down and departed with Shepard, showing every appearance of willing cooperation.

Having met Massani, I was impressed by Shepard’s ability to talk him out of _anything_. It seemed very much like the Shepard I had admired and loved. So did his insistence on rescuing the refinery workers, even at considerable risk to his mission and his life.

After Vara and I had dinner and talked about the day’s events, I went back to bed, my thoughts in a whirl.

_Goddess, keep Shepard safe and bring him to me as soon as you may._

Of course, that led to another worry and another prayer.

_Where is Quintus?_

* * *

**_25 July 2185, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

On the fourth day of my incarceration, my benevolent jailor agreed to let me stay out of bed. Apparently rest, regular meals, and medication had worked their mundane miracles, and my body had almost recovered. Certainly I _felt_ stronger, more balanced, more in control of myself than I had since Ferris Fields.

It was just as well, since when Vara came home that evening, she brought the justicar with her.

It was rather a shock. At the time I was working at my desk and not at _all_ dressed for company. I glanced over to the door, did a double-take, and then did my best to rise and give my guests a dignified bow. Not an easy task, given that I wore nothing but a light tunic in white silk.

“Welcome to my home, honored justicar,” I said, somehow managing not to let my voice shake.

Samara was one of the most _impressive_ asari I have ever known: tall, extraordinarily fit, and as elegantly graceful as any Matriarch I’ve encountered. She had honed her mind and body as a weapon, as graceful and deadly as any sword created by a master-smith. Just watching her walk across a room was a powerful aesthetic experience. She radiated _areté_ , sheer presence and force of will.

I found I could not meet her eyes for long. They were startlingly large, silver-colored, cool and serene, they missed nothing . . . and they looked _far_ too much like Morinth’s for my peace of mind.

“Does my presence disturb you, Doctor T’Soni?” Her voice, at least, was nothing like that of the _ardat-yakshi_. Its timbre and pitch sounded very close, but I heard nothing of the arrogant _hunger_ that clotted every sound of Morinth’s voice. Instead the justicar seemed perfectly calm and self-controlled, with almost no hint of personality in her voice, only a detached compassion for those with whom she spoke.

“Forgive me, honored justicar,” I murmured. “Your resemblance to the _ardat-yakshi_ I encountered . . . is rather strong.”

“Yes.” She crossed the floor to rest her hands on my shoulders. “Look at me, child.”

I forced myself to stand straight and look her in the eyes.

“Your acolyte has told me how you went alone in search of Morinth, and what happened when you found her. That was bravely done, but very foolish. She has had _centuries_ to gather power and sharpen her skills as a predator. If her will overcame yours, there is no shame in that for you.”

“Morinth’s will didn’t overcome hers for _long_ ,” said Vara grimly. “I didn’t see it, but it seems she sent the _ardat-yakshi_ running for her very life.”

Samara nodded, releasing my shoulders. “You are to be commended. It has been decades since any of Morinth’s victims even survived her attack, much less struck back at her so effectively.”

“Thank you, justicar.” I forced myself to relax, and found that I actually felt more at ease. “Will you accept my hospitality?”

“For a brief time. I must return to my investigation, but a meal in company would be pleasant.”

“I’m on it,” said Vara, setting out for the kitchen.

I excused myself for a few moments to go upstairs and put on what had become my standard mission outfit: bodysuit and jacket in white and blue . . . with plenty of understated armor and a shield generator built into the tailoring. I was _beginning_ to relax in the justicar’s presence, but I saw no reason to take any chances. Samara, of course, noticed the subtle features of my outfit the moment I appeared on the staircase once again, but she said nothing. At most I saw a flash of amusement in her eyes, before she turned back to answer a question from Vara.

The meal turned into a surprisingly convivial occasion. Vara was somewhat justicar-struck but had long since managed to overcome it; she and Samara got along famously. For the most part I sat back and listened to their talk. Once the ice had broken, the justicar had some _astonishing_ tales to tell. Smuggling and slaver rings broken up single-handedly, careers of corrupt politicians or corporate executives brought to an abrupt end, other _ardat-yakshi_ tracked across the years to their final lairs. She had centuries of adventures to recount, and she did so in a detached manner that avoided any hint of boasting.

Eventually we got down to the last few sips of wine, and I could see subtle signs that Samara wished to depart. I leaned forward and changed the subject. “If I may ask, Samara . . . what have you discovered so far?”

“It is clear that Morinth survived your encounter,” she said, and I had to suppress a shudder. “The evidence indicates that she has taken refuge with the Eclipse gangs in the starport district. I believe her battle with you reminded her of her mortality. In any case, with Nos Astra law enforcement now actively searching, and with my arrival, I suspect she will flee Illium if she can. I hope to locate and corner her before she can do that, although she has an immense talent for evading capture.”

I watched her face for a long moment. “This must be very difficult for you,” I observed quietly.

For the first time, her eyes fell to the table-top rather than stay with mine. “This is the life to which I have committed myself. I do not pursue might-have-beens, nor do I seek the pity of others.”

“I have none to offer, justicar,” I told her. “But compassion is never out of place. If there is anything I or my people may to do assist you, please do not hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you, child.”

A thought occurred to me. “Samara, I know your quest takes precedence . . . but as it happens, I know of another mission that would be worthy of your attention.”

She cocked her head slightly, listening.

I explained my relationship to Shepard, and what I had deduced about his goals. “There are many lives at stake,” I concluded. “I hope to make contact with Shepard very soon, perhaps even here on Illium. If that comes to pass, would you consider lending your talents to his mission?”

“It _does_ seem to be a quest well worth following,” she admitted. “I can make no promises, but if your Commander Shepard’s path crosses mine, I will consider it.”

“That’s all I can ask, justicar. Thank you.”

With that she rose, accepted respectful bows from Vara and me, and departed on her quest once more.

Vara straightened slowly and turned to me, her eyes alight. “Wasn’t she _amazing?”_

“She is certainly a very strong personality.” I gave her a gentle smile. “And _you_ are behaving like a star-struck maiden.”

“Goddess, Liara, I _am_ a star-struck maiden. As a child I wanted _very badly_ to become a justicar when I grew up.”

I shook my head. “Perhaps one day you will still get the chance, but I wouldn’t wish that life on anyone. She seemed very lonely.”

“True.” Vara’s hand rose, as if to reach out and touch me, but then she let it drop to her side. “Well. Now that our guest is gone, I have some news for you.”

I felt a sudden shock of anticipation. “The mission to Earth?”

Vara nodded and smiled, producing a datapad and holding it out for me. “Entirely successful. Quintus and his team returned this afternoon. They brought this for you.”

I glanced at the pad.

_A message from the Illusive Man_.

“He wants to arrange a meeting with you tomorrow afternoon,” said Vara skeptically. “Alone.”

I nodded. “Good. Then that’s how it will be.”

* * *

**_26 July 2185, T’Soni Analytics Officers, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

“Good morning,” said Aspasia, some of her old energy back in her voice. “Today is Day 697. As of midnight the balance sheet for T’Soni Analytics was two billion, two hundred and twenty-six million, eight hundred and twenty-five thousand credits in the black. Dr. T’Soni, do you have any remarks for all of us before we begin?”

“I do.” I looked around the table: Aspasia, Nyxeris, Vara, Arin, and Quintus. “I want to thank all of you for your hard work and dedication while Aspasia and I took leave. These are difficult times, and everyone has performed admirably. Please pass that along to your departments as well.”

I heard a low chorus of agreement.

I turned to my right. “Nyxeris?”

“Output for our commercial product lines has recovered since Tana’s death,” said Nyxeris quietly. “I’ve placed Haran Daleis in charge of the Outer Terminus Systems desk, and he has made great strides in our analysis of the Collector threat.”

I nodded, remembering Haran: a salarian, intelligent even by his own people’s standards, with a gift for languages and cross-cultural political analysis. A good choice.

Nyxeris leaned forward, a gleam of interest in her eye. “On another matter, we have a breakthrough in understanding the activities of the Shadow Broker’s network on Illium.”

Vara nodded and turned to me. “Several of our informants have turned up very useful information, Doctor. Nyxeris and her people are clearly on to something big here.”

“Go on,” I encouraged Nyxeris.

“The Shadow Broker’s chief of station on Illium is an operative known only by a code name: _the Observer_. This operative supervises a cell with at least four immediate subordinates. We have yet to identify any of them, but we have several promising leads for Vara’s agents to follow. We may be able to roll up the entire cell within a few days.”

_Interesting that Nyxeris should come forward with this kind of information_. _Whoever this Observer may be, if she is not the mole within T’Soni Analytics, she almost certainly knows who the mole is. Which argues that Nyxeris cannot be the mole, if she is working to expose the Observer._

_Unless she is playing a deeper game, sacrificing some of the Shadow Broker’s less valuable assets to deflect suspicion._

_I may be paranoid. The question is whether I am paranoid **enough**._

“That’s very good news,” I said, keeping my thoughts concealed. “Nyxeris, Vara, please devote as many resources to this problem as you can. Quintus, have your men ready to move in if we can clearly identify any of these operatives. We will have questions for them.”

“It will be my genuine pleasure,” said Quintus.

“Nothing further,” said Nyxeris.

“Operations are proceeding normally,” Vara reported. “On my own initiative, I’ve had all our agents evacuate from the remaining worlds on Tana’s target list.”

I frowned, but nodded in agreement after I had a chance to think it through. “Good. There’s nothing any of them can do against a Collector attack.”

“That’s what I thought.” Vara looked grim. “It’s just as well I did it. The Collectors hit another human colony world starting early this morning. A place called _Horizon_.”

I glared around the table. “Why did no one inform me about this?”

“Because you were still on leave, and there was absolutely nothing you or any of us could have done about it,” said Aspasia firmly.

I shook my head angrily. “Now that I’m back, I want to be informed of any Collector activities we detect.”

“Noted,” Vara clipped. “Our observer assigned to Horizon is safe, awaiting orders to go back in as soon as the Collectors have gone.”

“Did we inform the Alliance?” I asked.

Vara nodded, referring to her omni-tool. “Yes . . . although they knew almost as quickly as we did. I think they had their own observer deployed to Horizon. An Alliance officer named Williams.”

I stared at her, feeling the conference room fade away around me for a moment. She glanced at my face and then did a double-take, shocked at my reaction.

“Not _Ashley_ Williams?” asked Aspasia urgently. “One of Shepard’s crew?”

“I . . . don’t know,” said Vara. Nyxeris shook her head as well.

I swallowed hard and tried to seize control of my emotions. “Find out as soon as possible.”

“I’m on it,” said Vara. “Nothing further.”

Arin leaned forward. “Our bug hunt still appears to have been successful. I’m continuing to sweep all our operational spaces and the network core on a daily basis. No new monitoring devices have been found, either of the Collector-tech type or of any more well-known model.”

“Good,” I said. “Continue with that until further notice. Do you need any new resources to keep the rest of our technological base up?”

The quarian shook his head. “Not right now, but I may within a few days. I’ll keep you informed.”

Quintus leaned forward. “No security incidents to report, aside from that business with the drell a few days back. I know you don’t want us to make a big deal out of that, but I’m using it to drive a readiness exercise among my men. If someone else tries the same trick, they are _not_ going to get in as easily.”

“I would expect nothing less,” I said, smiling at him. “Any signs of hostile activity out on the streets?”

“Everything’s quiet,” he said. “I did hear an interesting rumor, though. Apparently Nassana Dantius has done a plus-up on her private security contract with Eclipse.”

“Vara?”

My acolyte nodded, keeping her face under strict control. “That fits what our informants and implants inside Dantius Industries have been saying. Nassana is getting paranoid about something. More than usual, that is.”

“Might the additional support from Eclipse be a sign she’s planning to re-open the war against us?”

Quintus shook his head. “It doesn’t feel like that. More like she’s expecting someone to make a move on her. Although I suppose her Eclipse goons could shift from a defensive to an offensive posture fairly quickly, if that’s what she wanted them to do.”

“Well,” I said, affecting innocent unconcern, “stay on the alert.”

* * *

**_26 July 2185, Boreal Ocean Shoreline/Illium_ **

I emerged from my car and walked down to the seashore, listening to the wind and the sounds of surf. A storm threatened to come in off the Boreal Ocean, but for the time being the sun was out and the air pleasantly warm. I stood over a hundred kilometers from Nos Astra, on a private stretch of beach that few people ever visited.

A single figure stood down by the edge of the sea: a male human, short and compact, with long black hair pulled back and secured behind his neck with a deep-blue ribbon. He wore a black jacket, trousers, and boots. I saw a sidearm at his hip, and a sheathed _sword_ , of all things, slung over one shoulder. As I approached, he turned from his contemplation of the waves and faced me. Light brown skin, dark eyebrows, rather startling blue eyes, the shape of his features hinted at ancestry in the ethnic group humans called _Chinese_. His movements and posture suggested considerable physical training.

At the time I did not know him. Later I came to wish very strongly that I had killed him on sight.

I stopped about twenty paces away from him, some instinct warning me not to approach any more closely. “I am Dr. Liara T’Soni.”

The human nodded without speaking. He produced a small holographic projector and tossed it toward me with a gentle underarm throw. It coasted through the air, drifting to a stop about two meters from me, a corona of light flaring into existence and taking the shape of another human figure.

_The Illusive Man._

_“Doctor,”_ he greeted me, lighting one of his eternal cigarettes. _“I must compliment you on your ingenuity. Your method for attracting my attention was very creative.”_

“I believe there’s a human saying. _Desperation is the mother of invention_.”

_“That’s not quite how it goes, but I take your point. Thank you for releasing my operative in London unharmed.”_

“I had no reason to harm him. As you say, all I wanted was your attention.” I fixed him with an intense stare. “May I ask why Cerberus cut off contact with me so abruptly?”

_“Because your organization has been completely compromised, Doctor. T’Soni Analytics may as well be a fully owned subsidiary of the Shadow Broker’s network.”_

I nodded. “So when one of the Broker’s agents tried to sabotage the Lazarus Project, you wrote us off as a liability.”

_“Cerberus has invested a great deal in Commander Shepard, Doctor. Continuing to cooperate with you, even to the extent of permitting Shepard to contact you, puts that investment at risk.”_

Rather to my surprise, I couldn’t even resent his statement. For once I had to admit that if I had been in the Illusive Man’s position, I would have done exactly the same. “I have some new data for you, then. We know how the Shadow Broker monitored almost all of our communications. Tiny listening devices . . . implemented using Collector technology.”

His hand holding the cigarette froze in mid-air. _“Interesting.”_

I saw a momentary opening and attacked. “You weren’t aware of these devices, were you? Cerberus had an operative on Fehl Prime – a man named Messner, isn’t that correct? But the Collectors killed him and all the intelligence he gathered went to the Alliance.”

He nonchalantly used his cigarette, exhaling smoke through his nostrils. _“A temporary setback.”_

“No doubt you’ll get the data from the Alliance eventually.” I smiled at him. “I have them _now_ , thanks to our mission to Ferris Fields. We’ve _already_ located and destroyed all of the Collector-tech devices in our own facilities. Can you say that there are no such devices anywhere in your own network? Can you be _sure?”_

The Illusive Man used his cigarette again, the draft causing the embers at its end to flare like a tiny red star. _“What do you propose, Doctor?”_

“First let me give you an assessment of my current security. I suspect there is still at least one mole in my firm, reporting to the Shadow Broker. I have cleared my inner circle and considerably reduced the list of potential suspects. All of the suspects are compartmentalized, and now that the Collector-tech devices have been destroyed, I control the flow of information to them. T’Soni Analytics is no longer a liability to you.”

The Illusive Man nodded. _“I’ll stipulate that, for the sake of argument.”_

“I will immediately share all of our data on the Collectors and their technology, if you will do the same. I’ll at least consider any other cooperative ventures you would care to suggest.” I stepped closer to his image, staring into his eyes. “But _I want contact with Shepard_. That is not negotiable.”

He watched me for a long moment. I had no illusions that I had intimidated him into considering my demands. Behind those strange glowing-blue eyes he was scheming, calculating, weighing advantages and disadvantages. He was considering whether Liara T’Soni and her resources constituted an asset that, in the long run, he still might be able to _control_.

Finally he nodded slightly, almost to himself. _“All right, Doctor. I think we can come to an agreement.”_

Behind the Illusive Man’s image, his emissary reacted for the first time to what was happening. He shifted his weight, one hand moving near the grip of his sidearm, and an expression of distaste ghosted across his face.

“Good,” I said, not giving any sign that I had seen the byplay. I opened my omni-tool and exchanged secure drop-box addresses with the silent emissary. “What about Shepard?”

_“You may be aware that he is in command of a new ship. A new **Normandy**.”_

I nodded.

_“What you may not know is that the ship carries an advanced AI system, to handle ECM and cyberwarfare systems. The system is called the Enhanced Defense Intelligence, or **EDI**.”_

“No doubt this AI also _monitors_ the ship and its crew.”

_“A safe assumption. EDI is the reason why none of your messages have reached Shepard . . . and why none of his have reached you. Had he thought to try to contact you while away from **Normandy** , the ruse would not have worked, but he has been kept quite busy ever since he escaped from Lazarus Station.”_

“I assume you will instruct EDI to cease this interference.” I didn’t bother to ask him to stop _observing_ those messages.

_“Yes, and I’ll do one better than that. Right now Shepard and his team are wrapping up a mission on Horizon.”_

“Horizon!” I felt my hands clench into fists, and the Cerberus emissary tensed. “The Collector attack?”

_“Defeated,”_ said the Illusive Man. _“Shepard drove the Collectors off Horizon and saved two-thirds of the colonists. That counts as the greatest victory humanity has seen since this war started.”_

I had to shake my head, a proud smile on my face that I couldn’t quite suppress.

_Who else could win against such odds?_

_“At least two of the candidates we have identified for Shepard’s team are currently located on Illium. After the victory on Horizon, now strikes me as an excellent time to suggest that he pay a visit to your world. To you . . . and he will bring some information you may find useful.”_

“I’m glad we could find such a convergence of _mutual interests_ ,” I told him.

The Illusive Man nodded, and then his image vanished. The projector returned to the emissary’s hand, and he turned and walked away from me without another word.

* * *

**_27 July 2185, T’Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

Dealing with Accounts Receivable was never a pleasant part of my job. Normally Aspasia’s department generated bills and invoices, tracked payments, and used a legal firm to put pressure on recalcitrant clients. The majority of cases never came to my attention. Once in a while, though, I had to personally take action.

In such cases I often found it useful to imitate my mother. Stubborn debtors sometimes needed encouragement to overlook the fact that I was a young maiden with wide blue eyes, a snub nose, and a round face. It was a liability to be, as Shepard had once said, _cute._ Borrowing something of Benezia’s manner and tone often helped.

The male human on my comm screen had been a regular subscriber to our analytic products, and had three times commissioned specific investigations on credit. Unfortunately he was an inept investor, and even with the information we provided he had lost many millions of credits on bad deals. His payments to us had dwindled and eventually stopped.

“Have you ever faced an asari commando unit before? Few humans have.”

The human squirmed a little, one hand going to ease tension in the back of his neck. Behind me I heard my office door open, most likely Aspasia or Nyxeris coming to consult.

“I’ll make this very simple for you. Either you pay me, or I’ll flay you alive. _With my mind_.”

The human nodded nervously, and I cut the channel.

I heard a voice behind me, not Aspasia or Nyxeris, deep and utterly familiar. “Liara?”

I turned around.


	38. Cadence Interrupted

**_27 July 2185, T’Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

“ _Shepard!_ ”

Others had come into the room, in fact my office was unusually crowded, but I had eyes for only one man.

At first I barely recognized him. He wore a suit of combat armor, like nothing I had ever seen before. It wasn’t of Alliance make, it wasn’t of Cerberus make, and it didn’t carry even the tiniest scrap of insignia or decoration. It was a solid glassy black, from neck-rim to boots, with only a few accents in crimson to break up his outline. It seemed as if he had become a statue carved out of obsidian.

Yet the shape was right. He had the right height, the right build, his stance and posture fit into my memories like hand in glove.

He wore no helmet, exposing his head and face. They were not _quite_ as I remembered. The old scar crossed his forehead, meticulously reconstructed when Cerberus restored the tissues of his face, but new scars ran across his cheeks and jaw as well. An artificial blue glint shone in the back of his eyes, as if they socketed into mechanisms rather than honest flesh and bone. Yet the shape remained the same: high forehead, deep-set eyes under a heavy brow, bluntly carved cheekbones, prominent nose with a straight bridge, tapered jaw and strong chin. As ugly as ever, and as beloved.

Somehow I had crossed the floor and stood close enough to touch him, staring up into his face, his eyes. I reached up to caress his cheek for a moment, and the feather-light touch sufficed to send all my doubts fleeing into the darkness. It felt strange, the slight tingle on his skin that spoke of leashed biotic power . . . but it was him, _it was him_ , the man himself and not some cheating imitation. Cerberus had not changed his personality, had not _polluted_ him, he stood once again as the same paragon of humanity he had been before his death.

I almost took that last half-step and threw myself into his arms, but then he _hesitated_.

It took no more than a fraction of a second. Anyone else would have missed it . . . but I had been intimate with him many times, and I could read his micro-expressions as clearly as if he had shouted aloud. His head shook, just a few millimeters, and the flesh around his eyes pinched slightly in warning. Then his eyes flickered to his right, as if he had arrested a movement to turn and glance in that direction.

I looked, and what I saw caused my heart to skip a beat.

Miranda Lawson stood there, one of the visitors who had trailed Shepard into my office, looking sharp and competent in a black suit of light combat armor. Her face looked as coldly beautiful as ever, but to my surprise an _emotion_ lay across it, right out in the open for anyone to see.

_Hostile resentment_. Directed at _me_.

For an instant I couldn’t understand it. Miranda and I had always gotten along on a professional basis. We had found ways to cooperate during the war against Saren, and later during my quest to recover Shepard’s remains from the Shadow Broker. She had always treated me with respect, if not with much friendship. What could have changed?

Then I saw the subtleties of her body language, the way she oriented with respect to Shepard, the way her eyes kept shifting to keep him in their field of vision. Suddenly all was clear.

_She’s in love with him. She may not even have admitted it to herself yet, but it’s as plain as starlight on a clear night_.

I glanced back to Shepard, and the moment our eyes met I knew _he_ certainly knew about Miranda’s feelings. I also saw he had not decided how to deal with the situation, because however much he had missed me, some part of him also responded to _her_ passion.

Somehow that was the _last_ thing I had expected . . . that Shepard might return, sane and whole, but carrying my potential rival in his wake.

It felt like a glass wall slamming down between us. I arrested my movement toward him, stood absolutely still for an instant, and then began to ease away once more. I gave him one more look, silently communicating to him that we had a great deal to discuss, but it would have to be done in private, not in my office and _certainly not_ in Miranda Lawson’s presence.

Nothing appeared to be wrong with his memory. He could clearly read _me_ like an open book as well. He nodded slightly, just a hint of relief crossing his features.

I turned and walked back to my desk. I spared another glance for Miranda, and I _think_ I managed to keep my own sentiments well hidden. She failed to spontaneously combust, so I must have succeeded.

_If you think you are going to come between me and Shepard, you are very much mistaken. I will **tear you apart**._

_Unless he genuinely loves you. Goddess. In which case . . ._

I made a supreme effort of will and put the whole question out of my mind. For the moment.

“My sources said you were alive, and helped me track your progress over the past two weeks.” I stood behind my desk, my hands clasped behind my back, and I gave him a warm but neutral smile. “I hardly dared to hope. Shepard, it’s _very_ good to see you.”

He smiled, folding his arms in mock-skepticism. “You have _sources_ now?”

“Oh yes. You’ve seen some of what we’ve built as you came in. We’re certainly not operating on the level of one of the great-power governments or the Shadow Broker, but we have our finger on the pulse of events throughout the galaxy. It’s become a very profitable enterprise since you . . . well, over the past two years.”

“Is _profit_ what this is all about?”

“To some extent. You know that I inherited Benezia’s holdings, her fortune. I couldn’t simply go home to Thessia and settle in as nothing but one more in a long line of aristocrats. I had to do _something_ about the Reapers, and to do that I had to gather resources, influence, information.”

“I seem to recall saying you were bound to become a mover and shaker, Liara.” He gave me a proud smile. “I’m happy to see I was right.”

“Somewhat to my surprise.” I sat down at my desk, inviting him to take the chair opposite. “And now you’re back, gunning for the Collectors with Cerberus.”

He nodded. “If you know that, then you know that I could use your help. Come with me.”

“I can’t, Shepard.” Suddenly I couldn’t hold his gaze, had to look down at my hands resting on the desktop. “I’m sorry . . . there’s nothing I want more than to come with you on the new _Normandy_ , just like in the old days. But I have commitments here, things I need to take care of. In any case it’s possible that I can be of more help to you here, with all of my resources at hand.”

Something in my manner must have caught his attention. He sat up in his chair, a concerned expression on his face. “Liara, are you in some kind of trouble?”

“No.” I made a wry smile. “No more than usual. At last count our enemies list included several asari business interests, a salarian _dalatrass_ , a major turian separatist movement, an interstellar-scale mercenary gang, the Shadow Broker, the Collectors, and the Reapers. _And_ I very nearly added the Citadel Council itself to the list only this week. I stopped worrying about mere _trouble_ a long time ago.”

Shepard grinned at me. “I’m impressed.”

“At least none of us are likely to die of boredom.”

“Well, maybe this can help.” Shepard reached into a pocket of his armor and produced a compact data-storage device. “A certain _smoking man_ we both know asked me to give you this. He strongly suggested that you look at it only when you can be _sure_ that you’re secure.”

I glanced around the room, paying attention for the first time to the others who had come in behind Shepard. Miranda Lawson, a turian, and three asari. One of the asari was Nyxeris. I nodded to myself and said, “I understand. I will examine the data later.”

. . . _a turian?_

“ _Garrus!_ ”

For the second time, I found myself out of my chair and halfway across the floor before I even became aware of having moved. I stood in front of my friend and looked him up and down.

“She didn’t have quite _that_ big a reaction when she saw _me_ ,” said Shepard, amused. “Maybe I should be jealous.”

Garrus spread his mandibles in a turian smile. “Yeah, well, I can’t help it if the ladies keep swooning wherever I go. It’s the scars. They show distinction.”

“I’ve got scars too, Garrus.”

“ _Pfft._ All that says is that Cerberus didn’t quite have enough time to put all your pieces back together. Whereas _clearly_ I’m good survivor stock.”

I laid a gentle hand on the turian’s armor. “Goddess, Garrus. What _happened_ to you?”

Half of his face seemed much as I remembered it, unless there was a darkness, a weariness in his eyes that I didn’t remember seeing there before. The other half . . . something had _gouged_ at his facial carapace, tearing it away to inflict terrible wounds on the flesh and bone beneath. A competent surgeon had clearly been at work – I could see signs of tissue reconstruction and cybernetic prosthesis – but he had to be suffering a great deal of pain.

“Long story, Liara,” he said soberly. “Let’s just say I bit off a lot more than I could swallow.”

Suddenly my mind put all the pieces together. “ _You_ were _Archangel_.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Oh Garrus. I was so worried for you. Why didn’t you come to see me? Why didn’t you call?”

He shook his head, a glint in his eye suggesting some complex emotion. “Sorry, Liara. Running off to Omega, becoming Archangel . . . I did that because I was kind of pissed off at the whole galaxy. Including you, I’m afraid.”

I looked away from him. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Hmm. It’s water under the bridge now. What you did turned out for the best after all. For once, Cerberus seems to have done something _right_.”

I glanced over at Miranda, who still stood silently but didn’t seem quite as hostile as a moment before.

“I agree,” I said, meaning it for her.

She gave me a tense little nod of acknowledgement.

“My manners are _atrocious_ ,” I observed. “May I make introductions? This is Aspasia Lehanai, one of my oldest friends and currently the Chief Operating Officer for T’Soni Analytics. Vara T’Rathis, my director of Collection. Nyxeris Kalanas, my director of Analysis.”

My colleagues each bowed in turn.

“This is William Shepard, Staff Commander in the Alliance Navy, Spectre, and our leader during the war against Saren Arterius.”

Shepard had already risen from his seat one more. Now he bowed to my colleagues, his body language almost asari for a moment. I caught a gleam of interest in Aspasia’s eye as she watched him.

“I’m afraid I don’t hold that rank anymore,” Shepard objected. “Not to mention that I seem to be the first person in history to figure out how to _retire_ from the Spectre corps.”

Aspasia crossed to him and shook his hand gravely. “It’s an honor to meet you regardless. Liara has spoken of you so often, I think we all feel we know you already.”

Vara smiled and nodded. Even Nyxeris made another small bow in agreement.

“Any friends of Liara’s are my friends as well,” said Shepard.

I turned back to Garrus. “This is Garrus Vakarian, formerly of Citadel Security, another one of Shepard’s crew during the war against Saren . . . and apparently a galaxy-famous vigilante.”

The turian’s mandibles twitched in amusement. “I seem to be as retired from that status as Shepard is from the Spectres. At least I didn’t have to go _quite_ as far to manage it.”

Vara stepped forward to firmly shake his hand. “Mr. Vakarian, it’s an honor to meet you as well. While you’re on Illium, I hope you’ll make time to come talk to our Security department. Many of them are turians . . . and even with Commander Shepard here, I bet there’s more than enough hero-worship among them to spare for you.”

“Hmm. Given what I’ve been up to for the past couple of years, I find that hard to believe. But I think we’ll be here long enough I can stop by.”

Finally I turned to Miranda. “And this is Miranda Lawson, Cerberus operative, one of the Illusive Man’s most trusted agents . . . and supervisor of the project that revived Shepard.” I lifted my chin a little and spoke with resolution. “She has earned my _profound_ respect.”

Miranda’s eyes went slightly wide in surprise.

Aspasia made me proud. She stepped over and took Miranda’s hand just as firmly as she had greeted Shepard, and she even gave the Cerberus operative a small smile. “What you’ve done . . . it was a very great accomplishment. I think we’ll all have cause to be thankful for it in the years to come. It will be difficult for us to be friends, given your association with Cerberus, but so long as we are not _enemies_ I hope you will consider yourself welcome here.”

“Thank you,” said Miranda, her voice for once not perfectly under her control.

I nodded in satisfaction. “Good. Shepard, is there anything we can do for _you_ while you are here in Illium?”

“Yes, there is. Officially we’re here to locate and recruit two more specialists for my team, and to stock up on advanced technology for the mission. At the top of my list is someone named _Thane Krios_. Best information we have says he’s here on Illium, and I was hoping you might know where.”

_Now that is a very interesting coincidence._

Not everyone in the room knew about my involvement with Thane, so I sanitized my response for their benefit. “The assassin. Yes, he arrived here a few days ago. My sources tell me he may be targeting a corporate executive. You will remember her, I think: Nassana Dantius.”

Shepard frowned. “I _do_ remember her. Manipulated us into killing her sister on Sharjila. Nasty piece of work.”

“She has not improved with time, I’m afraid. I don’t know where Thane is precisely, but he did recently contact an asari named Seryna for intelligence. She has an office in the cargo transfer levels near the starport. Perhaps she can tell you where he is now.”

He was staring at me. “That was all just off the top of your head?”

“I’m a _very_ _good_ information broker, Shepard.” _The truth can wait for another time_. “I find that the world of intrigue isn’t that different from a dig site. One assembles many pieces of information to arrive at a truth others would prefer to hide. Although in this case, the dead bodies still smell.”

“No doubt.” Shepard stepped close and laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. Where no one else could see them, his eyes flashed toward the chair he had been seated in while we talked. “Thank you, Liara. We’ll be on Illium for at least a few days. I’ll be in touch.”

I gave him a sincere smile. “I’d like that.”

Then he left, gathering Garrus and Miranda in his wake.

“Goddess,” murmured Vara once we asari were left alone in my office. “You weren’t joking, were you? That human has more _areté_ than most asari I’ve met. Including a few Matriarchs.”

“How old is he?” wondered Aspasia.

“Thirty-one,” I answered, “if one counts the time he spent dead or in a coma on Lazarus Station. For a human, that would be early maturity, perhaps equivalent to a maiden just entering her fourth century.”

“Humans do mature so quickly,” she observed. “Yevgeni was a year or two younger than that, yet sometimes he made me feel as if I carried on a liaison with a matron three times my age.”

“Yes.” I turned to walk back toward my desk. “Would you all excuse me, please? I have a great deal to think about.”

Vara took the hint, leaving my office with Nyxeris in tow.

Aspasia, on the other hand, lingered. “Are you all right, Liara?”

I glanced at the door, making sure it was closed. Then I dove for Shepard’s chair, kneeling on the floor to examine it closely on all sides.

“Liara?”

“I’m fine,” I told her, making a gesture to indicate _someone may be listening_. I reached down between the cushions and produced a small slip of writing material, folded twice to make a tiny packet. I opened it. “It was just a shock seeing him again, that’s all.”

Aspasia already watched me with wide eyes. “I can imagine. Well, if there’s nothing else you need at the moment . . .”

_Assured Cerberus no longer blocking contact. Cerberus still monitoring comms. **Normandy** full of bugs. ML starting to come around but still loyal to TIM. Need to talk to you in private. May have hard time setting up occasion. Patience. Love you. Never stopped. S._

I showed the note to Aspasia. “No, I think I’ll get some more work done on Accounts Receivable. Let Arin know I’ll be coming down to the lab within the hour.”

Her eyes flashed across the page, then back to mine. There was a light in them, excitement at the intrigue, and possibly a moment’s pleasure at the last lines of Shepard’s message. “Of course.”

* * *

“Well. _That_ was interesting,” said Arin, finally stepping back from his instruments and his computer console. Keetah glanced at me from her position at the lab bench, nodding in agreement.

“What is it?” I asked them.

Keetah spread her hands. “It’s a _certificate_.”

I shook my head, still not understanding. “What kind of certificate?”

“A _cryptographic_ certificate,” Keetah explained. “From the Shadow Broker’s network. It appears to belong to an authority only one step down from the Broker himself. If I had to guess, I would say this certificate covers all of his high-sensitivity traffic in the entire Crescent Nebula cluster.”

I thought back to my long-ago training in codes and encryption methods, and my eyes suddenly widened in shock. “Do you mean the certificate for a major segment of the Shadow Broker’s network has been compromised . . . _and the Broker doesn’t know?_ ”

“Hard to say what he knows and doesn’t know,” said Arin. “The fact that Cerberus sent this suggests that _they_ think the certificate is still good. If we use it, though, the Broker will probably figure it out and repudiate the certificate.”

“Which would require all of his operatives and assets to rebuild their keys,” I observed. “Annoying but not a major setback. If we could find a way to use it _without_ showing our hand . . .”

“We’d better do it quick. Even if the Broker doesn’t suspect that this specific one has been compromised, it expires within a few days anyway.”

“Hmm. Arin, if we were to intercept messages being sent by the Broker’s agents here in Nos Astra, could we verify that they were signed by a certificate descended from this one?”

“Sure, but what . . .”

Keetah reached out and tapped Arin’s helmet lightly. “Stupid. The _point_ is that we could tell _which_ messages belonged to the Broker’s agents in the first place.”

Arin shook his head ruefully. “Teach me to become involved with someone smarter than I am. That’s right. We wouldn’t be able to read the messages, but we could at least trace them to their sources. Maybe identify the local agents, or locate this _Observer_ who seems to be in charge of them. And passive monitoring wouldn’t alert anyone to the compromised certificate.”

“You realize that we’re talking about . . . _hacking Nos Astra_ ,” I pointed out. “The only way to find the messages we want is to monitor traffic all over the city. Maybe all over the _planet._ ”

“Please. Remember who you’re talking to.” Arin ducked as Keetah threatened to thump his helmet again. “We could have put software agents out to monitor the municipal network any time. There just wasn’t any reason to do it before, since everyone on Illium seems to use strong encryption even for their laundry lists.”

“All right,” I said, nodding decisively. “Do it. And don’t discuss this with _anyone_.”

“Understood,” said Arin. Keetah only nodded solemnly.

* * *

**_28 July 2185, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

Early in the morning, the _buzz_ of my omni-tool awakened me, responding to a crash-priority message from the office. I wriggled out of my tangled sheets and picked up the device, struggling to focus on it as I activated the _accept_ key.

_Assignment complete. I encountered one of your associates during the action, a male human in black combat armor. We reached an agreement. I will be supporting his mission._

I saw no signature, but I didn’t have any difficulty guessing the source. My lips set into a grim smile as I realized that Nassana Dantius was dead.

_One enemy down. Who will be next?_


	39. Andante

**_28 July 2185, T’Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

About midday, Arin informed me that he had results to report. Vara and I met him in his lab in Quarian Central, one of the few places we could be _reasonably_ sure was not currently bugged.

“Since yesterday afternoon we’ve mined over forty Shadow Broker messages from the Nos Astra networks,” said Arin. “Some of them were directed to multiple recipients. All of them used certificates descended from the one Cerberus gave us.”

“Show me,” I commanded.

Arin opened his omni-tool and entered a series of commands. A hologram appeared between us, a simple directed graph showing connections among several nodes.

“Wait a moment,” I murmured, staring at the graph. Something about it wasn’t quite as I had expected.

I saw _six_ nodes.

“Vara, didn’t you and Nyxeris agree that the Observer commanded a cell of five?”

“ _At least_ five. That’s what the raw intelligence seems to indicate.” She met my gaze and shook her head. “I know what you’re thinking . . . but she didn’t have any access to the raw take, and I did my own analysis too. We probably just didn’t have any data to prove the existence of a sixth operative.”

“Hmm. Go ahead, Arin.”

“Well, with six nodes in the network, we have only thirty possible combinations of sender and recipient. If the network is well-connected and all the nodes are roughly equal in importance, we should see all thirty of those possibilities in rough balance. But look at this.” Arin tapped at his omni-tool, adding highlighting to certain connections in the graph.

“I see it,” I told him, walking around the hologram to take it in from all sides. “One node is different from the others. All but a few messages either originate with that node, or are directed only to that node. It’s the only node that sends messages to multiple other nodes at the same time.”

“Like a supervisor using a distribution list,” said Vara.

I reached out and cupped that one point of light in my hand for a moment. “The Observer.”

“It makes sense,” said Arin, pointing into the hologram. “I can tentatively identify who some of the other nodes might belong to, based on where we intercepted the messages. Node number two appears to be placed inside Dantius Industries. _Lots_ of message traffic coming from _there_ since last night. Number four is connected to Indenture Tech, possibly a slaver or slave-broker. Number six? No clue. It’s a data-drop, completely anonymous and buried behind three layers of indirection. Could be anyone, working from anywhere, possibly even off-planet.”

Vara shook her head. “No, I don’t buy that. Any informant or operative is going to need personal contact from time to time. The Observer is here on Illium.”

“Arin, do any of these nodes seem to be located in _our_ networks?” I asked.

“No, Doctor. That I’m certain of.”

“Hmm. That would seem to argue that the Observer and our mole are the same person . . . the one node you can’t trace.”

Vara shook her head. “I would feel better if we could prove who that is.”

“So would I.” I folded my arms and stared at the hologram, thinking hard. “The question is: how can we make use of this to crack the ring?”

“I don’t see how,” said Arin. “We still can’t _read_ any of these messages.”

“No chance we could crack the encryption?” asked Vara.

“Not even with every computer on Illium working the problem for a thousand years straight,” said Arin. “We have every node’s public key, but that’s not enough to read messages not meant for us.”

It felt like a stroke of lightning. My head snapped up, my eyes wide, and I think I frightened Vara with the sudden intensity of my stare. “If we have their public keys . . . and we have a senior certificate that all of them are required to recognize . . . then _we_ can send _them_ an encrypted message.”

“That won’t work,” Vara objected. “All they have to do is check with the next level up in the Shadow Broker’s hierarchy and find out that the message is a fake. Then the certificate we have won’t be good anymore.”

“Unless the message we send is one ordering the cell to rebuild their individual certificates and keys ahead of schedule, according to a new certificate that _we_ provide.”

Vara stared at me. I could see Arin’s eyes blinking in surprise behind his visor. “Doctor . . . are you seriously proposing that we _take over the Shadow Broker’s cell?_ ”

“Just long enough to roll them up. Yes.”

* * *

I had to double-check my calendar. It seemed strange for this particular person to be coming to consult with me. Yet my office door opened, precisely on time, and there she was. _Clip, clip, clip_ , went the rather ridiculous high-heeled boots as she walked across the floor.

“Operative Lawson,” I greeted her coolly, indicating the chair across my desk. I didn’t bother to rise.

She ignored the chair, stopping a few steps away and looking rather out of character. On any other human female, that stance and expression would have suggested a healthy level of self-confidence. On Miranda they practically shouted confusion and uncertainty.

 _Eyes not quite looking at me. Stance slightly folded inward, as if in self-defense. Fingers on left hand twitching ever so slightly, as if she can’t quite prevent them from fidgeting_.

I forced myself to set aside my personal feelings and tried again, letting my voice thaw a little this time. “Miranda. What’s wrong?”

“Doctor.” She stalled, gritted her teeth and tried again. “I find myself in the unpleasant position of asking for your help. I don’t like discussing personal matters . . . but this is important.”

I leaned back in my chair, steepled my fingers, and watched her. “Go on.”

Still she hesitated.

“Miranda. I promise you anything we discuss will be held in confidence.” Some _daimon_ prompted me. “Even from Shepard, if that’s what you want.”

She dropped her gaze entirely, and finally slid into the chair. “Yes. I don’t want Shepard to know about this. He’s off with Vakarian and that assassin, working to free up an asari specialist for our team. I have only a few hours to . . . make all the necessary arrangements.”

 _“Asari specialist?_ Do you mean Justicar Samara?”

“That’s correct.”

“Good,” I said sincerely. “I was hoping Shepard would be able to recruit her. Never mind. How may I help you?”

Her ice-blue eyes snapped up to hold mine. “I assume you have an extensive dossier on me.”

I cocked my head at her slightly, and said nothing.

“Right. Then you’re aware of my . . . biological origins. What you may not be aware of, because I went to _considerable_ lengths to conceal the fact, is that I have a sister. A time-displaced twin.”

“Hmm. Your father continued his project after your birth, then.”

“Yes. I was _grown_ before the First Contact War. After the war, human genetic and biotic technology made great advances. My father had access to more resources. I think even before I escaped him, he had plans for an . . . _improved_ model.” She shook her head, a determined expression on her face. “After I joined Cerberus, I learned about Oriana. I couldn’t let him do to her what he had tried to do to me. I got her away from him, took her into hiding, got Cerberus to help me protect her. She’s been living a normal life here on Illium, safe and hidden from my father.”

“Until now,” I observed.

“My sources indicate he knows that she’s on Illium. I’ve tried to keep her hidden without impacting her life, but I’m out of options. He’s too close. I need to relocate her family before it’s too late.”

“Does the family know about any of this?”

“No. I arranged for Oriana’s adoption without revealing her background to them. Her adoptive father doesn’t know that he works for a firm controlled by Cerberus. They’re completely uninvolved. _Normal_ _.”_

“Then Cerberus can arrange for the relocation,” I guessed.

“Yes. I’ve already set up that part. They’ll be leaving Nos Astra tomorrow for their new home. What concerns me is that my father’s agents may already be here on Illium. There’s too much risk. I need local help to make sure they don’t interfere and aren’t in a position to see where Oriana is going.”

I nodded. Memory told me there were almost no Cerberus assets on Illium other than _Normandy_ and its crew. “You need a counter-intelligence team.”

“Yes. Precisely.”

I called up a holographic window and scanned the duty roster, then activated the comm. “Vara?”

_“Yes, **despoina**?”       _

Miranda’s left eyebrow quirked upward.

“I want a CI team for a sensitive, short-fuse assignment, here in Nos Astra. The team lead should be asari, someone low-key but competent and professional. She will be detailed to work with Operative Lawson for the next day or two.”

Silence from the other end of the line, just long enough to tell me Vara was suppressing her own opinions. _“Of course, **despoina**. Lanteia is available and should be ideal.”_

“Thank you, Vara. Have Lanteia report to the small conference room. Operative Lawson will be there in a few minutes.”

I gave Miranda a wide-eyed look as the comm channel closed.

 _There you are_.

 _“Despoina?”_ she asked mildly.

“Yes, I have an acolyte.”

“At _your_ age?”

“It’s a complex situation.” I gave her a determined stare, clearly not inviting further comment. “Is there anything else I may help you with?”

“No, Doctor,” she said as she rose from the chair. “Thank you.”

“Miranda,” I said quietly. “Why don’t you wish to discuss this with Shepard?”

She stopped, half-turned to head for the door, full lips compressed into a pale line. “This isn’t something that would be appropriate to take to him. It’s a _personal_ matter.”

Finally, I rose from my seat and came around the desk to confront her face-to-face. “What makes you think he wouldn’t accept it?”

“I’m sure he _would_ accept it,” she said bitterly. “That’s the problem.”

“I see.” I gentled my voice, moving like an asari, easing closer to her, hands relaxed at my sides: no threat, no threat. “Miranda, my people can help you with your father’s agents, but what if they hire mercenaries to take your sister by force? Eclipse, most likely, in which case my people would not be able to help you. I have a truce with Eclipse, enforced by some of the most powerful figures on Illium. If it should come to fighting, you need your friends at your side. You need Shepard.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?” Another fraction of a step closer, carefully, as if I approached a wounded wild creature. “Because you can’t stand the idea of him seeing you as anything less than perfect?”

The probe worked. Cold blue eyes snapped up to lock on mine, her lips pulled back in a snarl.

I felt myself standing on a precipice. I understood Miranda Lawson now, like a sculptor could understand the fracture lines in a block of marble, knowing just where to place her chisel and _tap_. I could push _this_ way and send her out of my office in a rage, to talk to Lanteia and solve her problem on her own. She would go back to Shepard unchanged, still the perfectly competent executive officer, _and nothing more_.

Or I could push _that_ way.

_Goddess, the best thing for me to do is the last thing I want to do. He loves me. I know he does. Does he love **her** as well?_

_Would it better for him if he did?_

I didn’t know, couldn’t guess. I didn’t dare to measure the situation by the standard of _what I wanted_. I had to throw the dice and hope.

“Miranda. I don’t think you understand Shepard as well as you need to.”

“Nonsense.” She took refuge in the superficial. “I rebuilt him from the skeleton up. I rebuilt his personality, his memories, and his mind. No one else could have done it. I know him better than anyone. Possibly better than you do.”

I let the sting of that last remark pass by unnoticed. “Yes, you rebuilt him. Just as your father designed and built _you_ _.”_

She recoiled.

“Miranda, that doesn’t mean you _understand_ Shepard, any more than your father really understands you. You don’t know what it is to _be_ him. I do. I’ve experienced it from the _inside_ , as it were.” I sighed. “Not that this is a competition. I just want you to listen, and not dismiss what I have to say.”

She folded her arms, her eyes shadowed. “All right.”

“Shepard is _not_ like your father. He will _not_ react to you as you expect a man of his stature to react.”

“And how is that?” she demanded disdainfully.

“As if you were a _thing_ , a tool to be used, however well-designed and finely crafted.”

She snorted in revulsion and turned away from me.

“I understand,” I said gently. “You rebelled against your father, but in many ways you never really escaped him, did you? From infancy he taught you that your value came only from your utility to him, your ability to serve his purposes with the utmost competence and perfection. He taught you that you had no right to a will or purposes of your own. You ran away from him, refused to be his possession, because you despised him. Yet you never unlearned that lesson. How do you measure your own value today? By how well you serve the purposes of Cerberus. How well you serve the purposes of the Illusive Man . . . the man you _did_ come to admire and respect.”

She stood silently, but at least she did not retreat any further.

“So now you’ve finally found another man worthy of you, a great man who can match you on your own level. You expect him to value you solely for your skills and competence. To reveal weakness to him, to reveal that you are vulnerable and human . . . is very difficult. You fear he will lose respect for you.”

“Yes,” she murmured.

“Miranda, _Shepard will not see you the way you expect_.” I was almost in her personal space now, shaping my own body language to display no threat, no attraction or repulsion, nothing but detached concern. “He is a man of deep compassion. He values others because they are living beings, with minds and souls of their own, even if they are of no _use_ to him at all. He tries to treat even his enemies with consideration and respect. He loves the company of friends and comrades-in-arms. When he sees someone who cannot stand on his level, he lifts them upward, strives to make them _able_ to stand on his level. Even when he is in a command situation, he does not manipulate others or use them like disposable tools. The very idea of doing so fills him with rage.”

“I know.” She raised her eyes to meet mine, and for once her face was full of doubt. “I saw that, when we were modeling his personality, rebuilding his mind. I’ve seen it ever since he awakened. It’s part of what makes him such a superb leader. I didn’t understand it. I still don’t. I can’t think like that.”

“Then let him teach you,” I suggested, “the same way he taught me.”

She saw it then; it shone clearly in her eyes. She knew what I had seen when Shepard had first visited me the day before.

“Go to him,” I told her. “Share your motivations with him. Tell him about your problem. Ask for his help.”

“All right.” She frowned at me. “Why are you telling me this?”

Now I was the one who had to turn away. “Because he needs you.”

“He needs you too, Liara. He loves you.”

“Perhaps.” I turned back, my face under strict control once more. “But _you_ are the one who rebuilt him. _You_ are the one posted to his ship, serving as his second-in-command. _You_ are the one who must make his relationship with Cerberus work, at least while this war against the Collectors lasts. Make no mistake, Miranda, I am _not_ hoping that he will _fall in love with you_ , as you humans say. Even so, while you and he fight the Collectors, we all need you to work effectively as partners.”

She nodded slightly, and the corner of her lips turned up in an almost invisible smile. “I see that _you_ have no problem manipulating others.”

I shook my head. “In my new profession it is sometimes necessary . . . but this is not manipulation, Miranda. I am _advising_ you. Take the advice or ignore it, as you please.”

“I see.” She stood silent for a moment, and then gave me a nod of respect. “I’ll consider it, Liara. Thank you.”

* * *

**_28 July 2185, Batrocha District, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

From a set of safe vantage points, we watched the Shadow Broker’s agents assemble.

“Contact,” murmured Quintus from his position to my right.

I nodded. “I see him.”

 _“Confirmed,”_ said Vara over the radio. _“Tag this one Number Three. Male salarian in a business suit. I got a good image of his face.”_

Arin’s broke in. _“Identified. Rolek Vetras, age thirty-two, import-export broker, employed by Dantius Industries.”_

“Bet _he’s_ glad he didn’t work late last night,” muttered Quintus.

After requiring the Broker’s agents to rebuild their cryptography, we sent a message under the new keys, ordering them to meet and confer with one of the Shadow Broker’s personal representatives. Fortunately we had some idea as to the standard format and structure of the Broker’s command-and-control messages. When five out of six of the Broker’s agents acknowledged the order, we knew _we had them_.

The designated meeting place was small, empty, and isolated, a minor office complex I had purchased through a shell company. It stood well back from the nearest street, in the middle of a lot that showed signs of severe neglect. Arriving several hours in advance, we had little difficulty setting up so that we could observe all avenues of approach or retreat.

 _“Contact,”_ said Vara. _“Tag this one Number Four. Male batarian in scuffed light combat armor. Curse it, his face is partially concealed by a visor.”_

“I don’t have a good angle either,” I said.

_“Too late, he went in the front door.”_

So far we had seen a salarian, a turian, a krogan, and a batarian. None of them had looked particularly like an elite agent . . . but then, elite agents usually did their best not to look like that. More to the point, none of us had recognized any of them. If the mole inside T’Soni Analytics was one of them, he or she had not yet made an appearance.

“Contact,” said Quintus again, and then he _chuckled_. “You’ve got to be kidding me. A _vorcha?_ _”_

I saw him too, one of the gangly, spine-fanged creatures, looking surprisingly neat in a dark-brown vest and trousers. He peered about suspiciously before crossing the street and approaching the front door of the building.

“Tag this one as Number Five,” I ordered across the comm link.

 _“He even has an entry in the citizenship database,”_ said Arin. _“Kakst Vreeba, age twenty-five, a legitimate dealer in **kivas** and **trillium**.”_

Quintus shook his head in wonder. “ _Spirits_. I suppose if we can deal with hanar pirates, we can deal with respectable vorcha businessmen.”

“There he goes,” I pointed out, as the vorcha entered the empty building.

“Five out of five,” observed Quintus, checking his omni-tool for the time. “Should we go in?”

“It’s not quite time yet. Let’s give the sixth agent a chance to make an appearance as well.”

 _“Quite a lot of chatter in there,”_ said Keetah, from her post back at the central office. She was in charge of monitoring the listening devices we had placed inside the building.

“What are they saying?”

_“Not much of substance. Some of those guys don’t like each other very much. The batarian is particularly unpopular.”_

“Any sign that they are losing patience?”

 _“Not yet,”_ Keetah assured me.

“Patch them through to my channel,” I ordered.

I listened for several minutes to an increasingly bad-tempered conversation. I could differentiate the voices by species: the salarian’s fast, telegraphic speech; the flanging drawl of the turian; the deep voices of the krogan and batarian; the vorcha’s high-pitched voice and surprisingly erudite word choices. None of them seemed suspicious of the circumstances, though they all grew concerned that the Shadow Broker’s representative had yet to make an appearance.

Then I heard it, in the krogan’s deep rumble. _“Damn it, the Observer isn’t here either. You suppose there’s been a last-minute change of plans?”_

I cursed to myself. The Observer was not one of the five in the building.

An electronic _chirp_ , as of an omni-tool being opened, then the salarian: _“Negative. No messages.”_

 _“Doesn’t mean anything,”_ said the turian voice. _“You know how the Observer is. She’s probably meeting with the Broker’s man somewhere else and didn’t bother telling us.”_

 _“Five minutes,”_ snapped the vorcha. _“Then I have more important things to do.”_

I reached out to touch Quintus gently on the shoulder. “Move your men into position,” I told him. “They’re getting impatient. We will have to round them up and then question them to discover the Observer’s identity.”

“Roger that.” He spoke softly into his comm on the Security channel.

Then . . .

I recoiled behind my low wall, shielding my eyes, as the office building disintegrated.

 _“Keelah!”_ shouted Arin over the comm.

When I looked again, the building was simply _gone_ , an enormous pillar of fire and smoke towering a hundred meters into the evening sky.

“Central to all units!” shouted Quintus. “What happened? Did anyone get out of there?”

 _“Negative,”_ reported Vara. All of the other observers we had put in place concurred.

“Verify that,” I snapped. “No one left the building by any of the exits?”

“Looks that way,” said Quintus after he had spoken to all of our observers once more.

I sighed and rolled to my feet for the first time in over an hour. “Goddess. All right, let’s withdraw. We don’t want to be lingering in the area when the emergency units arrive.”

Quintus was staring at me. “The Observer knew, didn’t he?”

 _She_ , I thought, remembering the turian operative’s last words. Our first real clue as to the Observer’s identity. “So it would seem.”


	40. Allegro

**_29 July 2185, T’Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

I didn’t sleep well the night after we failed to catch the Observer. Something in the sequence of events bothered me, but it stubbornly refused to rise to my conscious mind. Had my life been written according to the conventions of clichéd romance, I would have experienced a series of symbolic dreams to render everything clear. Unfortunately I tossed and turned, and had no dreams at all that I can remember.

When I went in to work the next morning, I did something unusual. I went to see Quintus in his office.

Security’s headquarters stood on the ground floor of the building, the better to monitor the entrances and defend the place if we ever came under open assault. Behind a set of _very_ sturdy double doors, it had the appearance of a small military installation. Opaque windows, reinforced with thick panes of steel. Offices on the open plan for the sight-lines, but with plenty of waist-high partitions for cover. An armory and a small infirmary, close to the entrance.

Quintus held court on a raised dais in the back of the main office space, from which position he could watch over his entire department during day-shift. He commanded the most _diverse_ department in the firm, with asari, salarians, humans, and even two krogan in addition to a solid core of turians. A wide variety of faces rose and turned to follow me as I made my way through the space.

“Doctor. This is a pleasant surprise,” said Quintus as I stepped into his demesne and closed the door behind me.

“I really should come down more often. I’m afraid I have an ulterior motive for this visit.” I pulled a chair out into the center of his office and sat down. “Quintus, I need a sounding-board, and it needs to be someone with military experience. Are we secure?”

“Sure.” He touched a control on his work table, and the transparent walls of his office turned opaque. He leaned back against his work table, folding his arms and watching me intently. “Arin’s team sweeps this space every day. They haven’t found a bug in quite a while.”

“Good.” I frowned, still trying to order my thoughts. “Quintus, does anything seem a little _off_ to you, about what happened last night?”

“You mean when the Observer sacrificed all of his agents just to throw us off the trail?” He nodded decisively. “Yeah. That was a pretty smooth trick.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look at the timing,” he suggested. “We sent out the message ordering all of the Broker’s agents to rebuild their crypto at 1300. Then, about an hour later, we sent out the message ordering them to meet at our building. I had advance scouts in place there by 1800, and we didn’t see anyone enter or leave the building until the first of the Broker’s operatives showed up two hours later. That means the Observer must have figured out the trap, acquired the explosives, gotten to the building, _planted_ the explosives, and gotten away cleanly, all between 1400 and 1800. Four hours.”

“That doesn’t sound too difficult.”

“Maybe . . . but that was _not_ a small set of explosive devices. They _pulverized_ that building. Not something one could acquire quickly, or plant in just a few minutes.”

“Wait a minute.” I folded my hands and pressed them to my lips. “Quintus, what about the security logs for yesterday’s day shift? Did anyone leave early?”

Turian expressions were hard to read, but I saw his lips draw down slightly and his mandibles clamp along the sides of his jaw. He wasn’t happy. He also didn’t have to consult his omni-tool, which told me he had already thought to investigate. “A few . . . but only one of our senior personnel. Aspasia.”

I blinked. _“Aspasia_ left early?”

“About 1420, according to the logs at the front desk.”

 _No. I do **not** believe this_.

I touched my omni-tool. “VI, did Aspasia Lehanai set up any out-of-office message yesterday afternoon?”

_“Yes, Doctor. She activated the following message at 1408: Leaving early on personal business. Will return tomorrow. In an emergency please contact my assistant, Terissa Rhodos.”_

I tapped at my omni-tool once more. “Arin?”

 _“Yes, Doctor?”_ said the quarian.

“What time yesterday did the Shadow Broker’s agents acknowledge our message ordering them to meet?”

There was a short pause, while Arin consulted his systems. _“All between 1406 and 1425.”_

I asked the question I should have thought to ask the previous day. “Which node in their communications network _didn’t_ acknowledge the message?”

Another pause. _“Keelah. It’s the one we thought must be the Observer. I’m sorry, Doctor, I should have flagged that for you yesterday.”_

“That’s all right, Arin. I missed it too.” I looked up at Quintus again. “The Observer must have had some reason to be suspicious. If she’s as careful as I suspect, she would have tried to verify the order through other channels before she acknowledged it. That doesn’t mean Aspasia is the Observer.”

“If not, then it’s a strange coincidence, Doctor.”

“That’s all it is,” I said firmly. “Aspasia is a hard worker, but she has flexed her work schedule before.”

“Maybe we can guess why.”

“I don’t believe it. I _won’t_ believe it. I would suspect almost anyone before Aspasia.”

“That may be exactly how the Observer knows you’ll react,” Quintus pointed out.

“There’s one way to find out.” I touched my omni-tool again. “Aspasia?”

 _“Good morning, Liara. Where are you?”_ Her voice certainly gave nothing away. She sounded as light-hearted as she usually was in the early morning.

“I’m having an informal meeting with Quintus down in his office. Would you come join us for a few minutes?”

_“Certainly.”_

Quintus and I waited quietly, until we heard a knock at the closed door. The turian moved to open the door, and then unobtrusively took up a position behind Aspasia as she entered the room.

“This is all very _mysterious_ ,” she complained.

“I’m sorry, Aspasia. I have only a few questions for you. You left the office early yesterday. May I ask why?”

Her expression turned solemn. “I was meeting with Yevgeni’s family.”

I felt my jaw drop in surprise for a moment. “Yevgeni’s . . . _family?_ ”

Behind Aspasia, I could see Quintus’s mandibles flare. He opened his omni-tool and began working with it.

“Yes,” she answered. “His parents, actually. Mikhail and Anastasiya Stoletov.”

“I didn’t realize he had any family left,” I said quietly. “He never mentioned them.”

Aspasia nodded. “They were estranged, especially after he left the Alliance military. He hadn’t spoken to them in years. Somehow they got word about what happened on Ferris Fields. They found out that Yevgeni and I had been married, so . . . they contacted me a few days ago. They arrived on Illium yesterday so they could meet me.”

“I see. Quintus?”

The turian nodded. “It checks out. Two humans by those names arrived on Illium yesterday at 1535, off the _Elysium_ , originating from the Citadel.”

Confusion was shading into anger on Aspasia’s face. “Liara T’Soni, are you _checking on me?”_

I held up a hand to ask for patience. “Yes, Aspasia, but I think you will understand why once I explain. You’re aware that we carried out an operation yesterday against the Shadow Broker’s operatives?”

She nodded.

“I don’t believe you’re aware of the details. The operation began when Arin’s team took over the Broker’s local network and sent a message to all of the operatives, directing them to meet at a specific location that evening. The message was sent out close to 1400.”

She saw it at once. “Goddess! I left the building just a few minutes later.”

I stepped forward to put my hands on her shoulders. “Aspasia, I would rather cut off my right arm than suspect you. But it _is_ a very strange coincidence.”

“I understand.”

“May I meet Yevgeni’s parents while they are here?”

Aspasia looked unhappy. “I’m not sure that would be a good idea right now. All they know is that he was working for you when he was killed in action. They’re . . . not likely to respond well to you just yet. To be honest, they’re still trying to adjust to the fact of their son being married to a non-human.”

I felt a pang of guilt. “Of course, Aspasia. I’ll write a message for them and leave it with you to deliver, if you think it would do some good.”

“It might, once we’ve had a chance to get to know each other a little better. They’re good people, Liara, I’m sure they will come around.”

I nodded and turned back to Quintus. “I think we can eliminate Aspasia from suspicion.”

“I agree, but where does that leave us?”

I reached up to fiddle with my crest in thought. “Have you considered that the Observer may not have been the one to plant or detonate the explosives?”

The turian cocked his head slightly. “Hmm.”

“Assume the Observer is one of our personnel. It would be very strange, don’t you think, if she had to _leave the office_ just to communicate with the Broker’s network? We _know_ that some of the Broker’s monitoring devices communicate via quantum-entanglement channels that can’t be detected. Why wouldn’t at least some of his agents have the same technology for their personal communications?”

“So you’re suggesting the Observer has an out-of-band channel. He can communicate with the rest of the Broker’s network right from his desk in our office.”

“It would explain a lot, wouldn’t it?”

“That also implies that the Shadow Broker has some assets here on Illium that we don’t know about. Someone to plant the bomb.”

“Couldn’t the explosive device have arrived with one of the members of the Observer’s cell?” asked Aspasia. “Planted on him, possibly without his knowledge?”

Quintus shook his head emphatically. “No. It would have to have been large enough that the one carrying it couldn’t have done so without knowing about it. Besides, we would have seen it. None of the agents were carrying a case or a big valise.”

“I agree.” I took a deep breath. “Then when we catch the Observer, we have another link in the Shadow Broker’s network to follow.”

“Assuming we _can_ catch the Observer. Whoever it is, he’s on the alert now.”

“Don’t worry, Quintus. We _will_ catch her.” I felt my right hand clench into a fist. “We’re very close. I can feel it.”

* * *

My omni-tool _chirped_ as I made my way to a meeting with Nyxeris.

_Liara. Sorry I haven’t called. I’ve been either in combat or recovering from combat for the past two days. Did manage to recruit Thane Krios, and an asari justicar named Samara whom I understand you know. Illium is running out of Eclipse mercenaries. Today looks easier. Miranda needs help with a personal matter. Hopefully will not take long, or involve gunfire. Dinner? S._

I sighed.

 _Oh, Goddess_.

Two years gone, Shepard had come back from the dead, he was in the middle of a desperate war against monstrous aliens, he was cut off from the Council and the Alliance, his foremost ally was (Goddess help him) _Cerberus_ , and he wanted a _date_.

Naturally I said yes.

_Shepard. I understand. I have not exactly been idle either. Dinner sounds lovely. I propose the House of Kallios, in the Xanthenia district. It’s one of my favorites, and it can offer various human cuisines if you prefer something familiar. Say, at 1900? L._

“Ma’am?”

Nyxeris stared up at me from behind her desk, a bemused look on her face. I realized I had continued into her office while composing my note to Shepard, completely distracted. It seemed fortunate that I hadn’t blundered into the door-frame.

“I’m sorry, Nyxeris. I just received a message from Commander Shepard.”

“I see.” She turned to the holographic window hovering over her desk. “I don’t have much to report, Doctor. All our usual sources say that the Shadow Broker’s network shut down entirely last night. Vara’s informants have not been able to confirm the presence of more operatives on Illium.”

“Then I suppose we can make this a short meeting.” I watched her closely for a moment. Something seemed different about her today.

_Expression and tone of voice carefully controlled as always, nothing unusual about her posture. Her coloring might be a little off . . . there._

Her hands shook, ever so slightly, as she operated her computer terminal.

I stepped close, leaned over her desk slightly. “Is something wrong?”

“No, Doctor.” She folded her hands primly in her lap, whether by accident or design concealing the tell-tale I had noticed.

I looked into her eyes, saw a flicker of _fear_. I thought hard for a long moment.

“Nyxeris, I want you to know something. I am aware that the Shadow Broker has a mole in our organization. I’ve known about it for several months. The mole is almost certainly the same person as this _Observer_ we have been pursuing.” I paused, holding her gaze. “I have not yet been able to _prove_ who the Observer is, but I am very close. If I discover who it is on my own, the consequences are going to be very severe. On the other hand, if the Observer were to come forward, work with me to minimize the damage . . . that is another matter.”

She held my eyes unflinchingly. “Do you suspect me, Doctor?”

“Yes,” I said flatly.

“I am sorry for that,” she said, her eyes dropping to her desktop. “Doctor, you’ve had me studying the Shadow Broker and his network, reporting my results to you, for a long time. There is one thing I’m certain you have noticed about him.”

“What is that?”

“He does _not_ react well to betrayal,” she said quietly. “I suspect the Observer would do almost _anything_ rather than turn double agent.”

“That’s unfortunate.” I cocked my head, my eyes wide, projecting _invitiation_. “I’m quite certain that we could protect the Observer if it came to that. The Broker is not omnipotent.”

She _almost_ managed to maintain control, but whatever fear drove her was too strong. She actually _shuddered_ for a moment. “I hope you are correct.”

“Give it some thought, Nyxeris.”

“I will, Doctor. Thank you. I’m sure the Observer, whoever he may be, will come around eventually.”

I nodded and turned to leave. Then I had to stop.

_He?_

I began to turn back.

Blue-white light exploded in my face. I felt a hammer-blow across my jaw and went airborne for just a moment. Then my shoulders and the back of my head slammed into a wall with a sickening _crack_. I blacked out for just a moment, and then began to struggle back to consciousness.

I opened my eyes just in time to see Nyxeris _vanish_ right in front of me. I saw a moment’s distortion in the air, like a dust devil fleeing out the door of Nyxeris’s office, and then it was gone.

I rolled painfully to my feet, pulling my omni-tool up to my face. “Quintus! Security alert! Nyxeris is the Observer! She’s loose in the building and she has a tactical cloak!”

“Roger that,” said Quintus’s calm voice.

Distantly, I heard alarms begin to sound. I staggered out of Nyxeris’s office and suddenly found myself being held upright by another asari. I blinked to clear my vision and saw Aspasia.

“Liara, are you all right?”

“We can worry about that later.” I glanced quickly around the Analysis watch floor, and saw dozens of startled faces staring back at me. Several asari analysts had their biotics called up defensively. Half a dozen Security officers had taken up positions to defend the area. “I think it’s safe to say that Nyxeris has been relieved of her position.”

 _“Nyxeris_ is the mole?” demanded Aspasia. “What finally made it clear?”

“She used a masculine pronoun to refer to the Observer.”

Aspasia frowned, clearly not understanding.

“Think about it. When we asari talk to non-asari, we speak in _koiné_ dialect and their translator devices turn it into whatever they can understand most comfortably. _Koiné_ doesn’t have gendered constructions like most of the non-asari languages we translate into, so the translators usually have to rely on context to correctly render what we say. If we want to _specify_ a gendered concept – especially a _masculine_ noun or pronoun – then we have to use one of the _tekhnētos_ words to get the idea across. It isn’t something we do without thinking.”

“I still don’t see . . .”

I turned to stride across the watch floor, heading for my own office, Aspasia trailing behind me. “She made a mistake. I think the original plan was to make us think that one of the five dead operatives was the Observer. They were all aliens and male. She wasn’t aware that I _knew_ the Observer had escaped the trap, and that the Observer is _female_. I rattled her, and she spoke as if the old plan remained in operation.

“She was _scared_ , Aspasia. I think what happened last night shocked her, and she’s terrified of what might happen if she betrays the Shadow Broker. The Broker must have another agent here on Illium, someone skilled and ruthless enough to set those explosives and kill all of the other operatives before we could get to them.”

Aspasia leaned on my desk as I sat down behind it. “So what do we do now?”

“We wait. Quintus has guards deployed in all the sensitive areas and the building is locked down. She can’t hide behind her tactical cloak forever.” I opened a few holographic windows over my desk, and tried to look unconcerned as I went back to work. I ignored the dull pain in my head, the stiffness in my shoulders, resolving to visit the infirmary for a moment once the situation with Nyxeris was resolved. When a small green light came on at the bottom of one window, I found myself breathing a little easier.

“You’re awfully _calm_ for a woman who just had one of her colleagues _betray_ her, and _assault_ her on the way out the door.”

“There is nothing I can do about it right now, Aspasia. It’s not as if I haven’t had my suspicions about Nyxeris for months now. Quintus and his men will find her.”

“What if she gets away?”

“She can’t. All exits from the building are covered by Security officers with technical gear. Quintus will have snipers on the roof. The utility levels in the basement are locked down. She’s here somewhere.”

Aspasia opened her mouth.

 _“Stop fretting._ You’re usually the one to tell _me_ not to worry.”

“This is different.”

“Shoo. Go work on the quarterly performance reports or something.”

I worked on the document in front of me, ignoring Aspasia’s reproachful looks, until she made her way out the office door. As soon as it closed behind her, I leaned back in my chair, placed my hands in my lap, and looked up at the ceiling for a moment.

“All right, Nyxeris. You can show yourself now.”

I saw a flare of light, heard a low hissing sound as the tactical cloak discharged, and then Nyxeris stood next to me, a heavy pistol leveled at my head at point-blank range.

_Goddess. I didn’t think she was **that** close._

“How did you know?” she asked, her voice still as calm as ever.

I turned my chair, slowly, not moving a muscle otherwise, my hands still at rest in my lap. I looked up at her face, trying to ignore the barrel of her sidearm . . . held rock-steady, about five centimeters from the spot on my forehead precisely between my eyes. Her other hand clenched into a fist, blue light haloing it as she held a barrier in place.

“Logic,” I told her. “I called Quintus too quickly. You had no way to get out of the building before he locked it down. So where does the invisible woman go? Where she can do the most damage with the least risk. Besides, I could hear you breathing.”

“I should have hit you a lot harder,” she muttered.

“Yes. But now, here we are. I assume, from the fact you haven’t already killed me, that you have something else in mind?” In the back of my mind a meditative state grew: peace, serenity, and access to a path that I had almost never travelled before.

“You’re going to get me out of here,” said Nyxeris, “and then you’re going to come with me to see the Shadow Broker.”

“What do you hope to gain by _that?”_

“My life.” Her eyes shifted, let show for a moment the mortal fear she struggled to control. “Damn you for toying with me for so long, making it clear you suspected me, but never quite acting on your suspicions.”

“I wasn’t _toying_ with you, Nyxeris. You weren’t the only suspect, and I didn’t want to condemn you without proof. I was trying to _save_ you.” I almost had it, the place I knew was there, deep down in my mind.

“What a _superb_ job you did,” she hissed in disdain, the first strong emotion I had ever seen from her. “The Broker finally lost patience and sent one of his best operatives to deal with the situation. Now the only chance I have is to end the threat you pose once and for all. If I don’t, _the Hammer_ will.”

“The Hammer? Do you mean Tazzik?”

Nyxeris shook her head. “I _wish_ it was Tazzik. He can be reasoned with. The Hammer is . . . a force of nature. Not at all subtle or devious. Overpowering. Ruthless. Utterly relentless. When she comes, she’s likely to kill all of us and sort the bodies out later. If she can be bothered to do even that much. She didn’t give a damn what happened to the rest of my cell last night, that’s for certain.”

“The Hammer destroyed that building? Killed the other operatives?”

“Probably without a moment’s hesitation.”

“Nyxeris.” My voice stayed utterly calm. “How long has this been going on? How did the Broker get to you?”

“You don’t get it, do you? The Broker didn’t _get to me_. I’ve been his agent from the beginning. From the day you hired me to do your analytic scut-work.”

I saw it then. Events stretching back two years suddenly made sense. “It was you, wasn’t it? You manipulated the other analysts, used subtle sabotage so that I couldn’t manage both the department head’s job and the CEO’s job at the same time. Then, when I decided to appoint someone to head up Analysis in my place, there you were: the best available candidate.”

“This isn’t the first organization I’ve infiltrated,” she said proudly.

“Somehow you kept deflecting my suspicions. Then when I declared war on the Collectors, and the Broker as their ally . . . there you stood, already in place, ready to influence the flow of information in our organization, ready to report to him on our progress.” I took a deep breath, reaching for calm. It was difficult. I felt tempted toward rage.

_Serenity. Peace. That elusive frame of mind._

“Did you have anything to do with Ferris Fields?” I asked her.

She frowned. “I’m sorry about that. I liked Yevgeni.”

“You _were_ behind it. You told the Shadow Broker where we were going, and he told the Collectors.”

“He thinks you’re a threat. Goddess knows why.”

I did something very difficult. I stared up at her, past the barrel of her sidearm, which now shook ever so slightly . . . and I swallowed my rage and _smiled_. “He’s right. Let me give you one reason. No doubt you were the one who bugged my office all those times. You never considered that I might have bugged _my own_ office, did you?”

“What?”

“After all, there are times when I _want_ people to know what is going on in here, even when the door is closed.”

Her eyes flickered to the side, down at my desk, saw the little green light as it blinked.

I raised my voice. _“Quintus?”_

My office door blew open explosively.

Nyxeris turned her head to the side, just for a fraction of a second.

She would have been primed to notice most control gestures, even out of the corner of her eye. A sweeping movement of one hand, to initiate a telekinetic pull or throw. A bunched fist, to create a biotic warp. A wide two-handed gesture, to set up a singularity. Any of those would have led her to pull the trigger, out of sheer reflex.

My hands simply twitched in my lap, turned upward, made a cupping gesture.

Deep in my mind, the connection formed. I reached out, seized the fabric of space _and time_.

Less than a meter away from me, a skein of white-blue lines of force sprang into existence and wrapped tightly around Nyxeris. For a moment her barriers held, but I was too strong for them. They flared and went down. Time buckled, and a bubble of _stasis_ held her in place.

I had seen my mother do this on the last day of her life. Across a considerable distance she had twisted time itself, holding Shepard, Tali, and me in abeyance until her acolytes could bring us into their sights. She had done it _three times_. It was a minor miracle that any of us had survived.

It had taken me long months of painful practice to discover the technique for myself. It might take me centuries to match Benezia’s power. But for now, I could certainly lock down one asari at point-blank range.

_“Liara! Get down!”_

I threw my weight backward, overturning my chair and hurling myself to the floor. Above and behind me, the stasis bubble popped back out of existence. Nyxeris had perhaps a quarter of a second to recognize the _discontinuity_ that had held her in its grasp.

Then Quintus fired his sniper rifle. He wasn’t as adept with the weapon as Garrus Vakarian, but he _had_ enjoyed a whole three seconds to line up his shot.

Nyxeris’s head exploded, scattering blood and gore across the great plate window behind my desk.


	41. Staccato

**_29 July 2185, T’Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

We quickly found the last evidence we needed, to confirm that Nyxeris had been the Observer.

Tucked away in her desk we found a shielded case, secure against Arin’s bug-sweeping techniques. It contained a dozen more of the little Collector-tech monitoring devices, ready to be set in place as soon as she considered it safe.

On her person we found a small device which turned out to be a _hand-held_ QEC communicator. When I turned _that_ object over to Arin for extensive analysis, a great deal of collective rejoicing followed. Every quarian in his department now looked forward with confidence to a successful Pilgrimage.

Her omni-tool gave us the next clue: private encryption keys, buried in a concealed directory. Suddenly we could read all the messages we had intercepted, sent to her from the other operatives in her cell . . . and from her superiors in the Shadow Broker’s network.

_That_ piece of evidence seemed to require my personal attention. I set up camp in the small conference room, while the forensics and cleanup crews worked over the grisly mess in my office. There I went through the Broker’s network traffic. In the end, most of it seemed interesting, but not of grave importance.

One message _did_ bring me up short: a briefing for Nyxeris, apparently sent to her two days before, after Shepard had arrived on Illium. Among other things, it gave the background of my battle for Shepard’s remains, from the Broker’s perspective. It specifically mentioned Feron Therion, the drell freelancer I worked with at the time.

_The drell I abandoned to the Shadow Broker’s mercy, fleeing to save Shepard and my own skin._

Feron still lived. He remained in the Broker’s hands, apparently still being elaborately _punished_ for his betrayal of the Broker’s purpose. Clearly the Broker intended this as an object lesson for Nyxeris, a warning against failure. No wonder she had been so afraid.

For over two years I had counted Feron among the dead. Now I saw evidence that he _lived,_ that my cowardice on Alingon had not led simply to his death, but to over two years of torment. There he remained, while I sat at ease in my office on Illium.

I felt gratitude for my isolation. I could drop my face into my hands, bow down almost to the tabletop, and let my shoulders shake where no one else would see.

_Goddess, forgive me. If only I had known. I would have . . ._

I stopped.

_What? What would you have done?_

I scrubbed at my cheeks with both hands, forced myself to stare at the image of Feron’s face in the Broker’s briefing document.

_You made the call. You abandoned him. You knew what it might mean for him, and you did it anyway. In the same circumstances, fighting for the same stakes, you would do it again. So let’s have no more of this cheap moral anguish. The question is: what are you going to do about it now?_

By the time I touched the intercom, my voice was quite steady. “Arin? These messages we’ve decrypted from the Shadow Broker’s network. Is there any way to determine where they originated?”

_“Hmm. Do you mean, where in **physical** space? It’s possible, but very difficult. I could try, but I don’t think I can guarantee success.”_

“Who could?” I asked coldly.

_“There’s a consultant over at Baria Frontiers. My department has worked with him before. A salarian named Sekat. He’s a master of the underlying structure of the extranet, the physical layer. He can figure it out if anyone can.”_

“All right. Thank you, Arin.”

I called up an internal directory for Baria Frontiers. _Gendar Sekat_ , age thirty, Principal Consultant, degrees in astronomy and mass-effect physics. I nodded to myself and made the call. Before long a pale-faced, wide-skulled salarian in a green business suit appeared on the comm screen.

“Gendar Sekat? My name is Liara T’Soni.”

_“I know who you are. Some of your employees have consulted with me before. It’s a pleasure to speak to you finally.”_

“Thank you. I may have an analytic job for you. I will pay well for very quick turnaround.”

Sekat blinked, and cocked his head in interest. _“When someone like you offers to pay well, I listen. What is it?”_

“I’m in possession of a number of extranet messages originating from . . . a business competitor. I would like to know from where in the galaxy they were sent.”

_“Interesting. Sure, I’ve done that kind of work before. I assume you have reason to believe that they’re not coming from a major world.”_

“I have no hypothesis, Sekat.”

_“Are the data encrypted?”_

“In their original form. Do you want to see the decrypts?”

_“No, I probably don’t **want** to . . . but it would make the job faster, and you did mention quick turnaround.”_

I nodded. “I will send both originals and decrypts, provided you are willing to sign an NDA.”

_“Certainly. What am I offered for the job?”_

“A hundred thousand up front, another hundred thousand if you can have the results for me by tomorrow morning.”

_“Done. Send everything over and I’ll get right on it.”_

“Call me immediately if you discover anything. I have a dinner engagement this evening, but I’ll give you my home and omni-tool numbers, just in case.”

* * *

**_29 July 2185, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

I swept into my apartment in an _enormous_ hurry, cursing an end-of-day meeting that had run over schedule. I had barely half an hour to meet Shepard at the restaurant. I set my sidearm and valise on the couch, and then left my shoes, gloves, business gown and undergarments strewn along the floor between there and the refresher.

Naturally, while I was in the shower I heard the comm ring. I cursed, emerged dripping, and ran for my office.

It was Gendar Sekat. I hadn’t expected him to call until morning. He looked mildly startled at the sight of me: nude, wet, and struggling with a towel.

“It’s lucky you caught me,” I told him. “I was just getting ready to go out. What have you got for me, Sekat?”

The salarian shook his head and looked quite pleased with himself. _“It was tricky, but you paid for the best. I’ve already got a good start. I can narrow it down to a cluster, maybe even a system.”_

“How soon can you have it?”

_“Honestly, it shouldn’t take long. The routing information is more distinctive than I expected. Go have your meal, then come to my office in the Dracon Trade Center. I should have something for you by then.”_ He hesitated. _“Gotta say though, T’Soni, you’re making me pretty nervous. How big is the trouble that could come out of this?”_

I smiled reassuringly at him. “Relax, Sekat. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

_“Enjoy your dinner.”_ Sekat cut the channel.

I had just enough time to run upstairs and change into something appropriate for a dinner date. For a moment I stared at the contents of my closet and _could not_ decide what to wear. I felt like a cliché.

_This is Shepard. He will appreciate you no matter what you wear. You became **siavi** -betrothed to him while wearing battle dress._

In the end I settled for my usual going-out-in-public outfit, the reinforced jacket and trousers in white and blue. After all, Nyxeris had suggested another threat on the horizon. Better to be safe if I was going out into the city.

The choice saved my life. As it happened, I didn’t even get as far as my front door.

I had left my Shuriken lying on the couch, so I stepped out into the living room to retrieve it.

For a fraction of a second, I stood there in dumb surprise.

_Where did that hole in the plate window come from?_

_Crack_. Another hole appeared, just below and to the right of the first one, on a direct line for my head. Nothing saved my life that time but the kinetic barriers installed in the window casement.

My reflexes finally cut in.

_They’re shooting at you, Liara!_

I dove and rolled to the left.

_Crack_. A third shot struck home.

I scuttled to my left. I thought I knew where the sniper had set up. Another tall building stood on the other side of the aircar lanes in that direction, designed with a broad terrace just a little higher than my apartment. A perfect vantage point, for anyone intending to punch through my windows with a high-powered rifle.

I checked the time.

_Shepard will be expecting me . . . but not for almost fifteen minutes, and he is halfway across the city. No help there, not in time._

I still made the attempt. I opened my omni-tool and placed a call to Shepard. Nothing happened. I tried placing another call, this time to Quintus. Same result. Something blocked my access to the network.

Not just a single sniper, then, but a coordinated attack involving cyberwarfare assets. The enemy would have backup in the area, troops to come and crack my apartment open if the sniper failed. They might already be on the way.

_I have to get out of here. I have to get to Sekat. He may be in danger._

_I may not be enough to save him_.

Maybe I could get a message to Shepard after all. I would need to move around the apartment for a few minutes . . .

“VI, set the windows to opaque.”

No result there either. I cursed. The bullets must have damaged the window controls. I called up my biotics and recovered my Shuriken with a telekinetic pull, not exposing myself to the sniper.

I _did_ have to move in front of the window for just a moment to reach the desk in my office. I put up my strongest barrier and _rolled_ across the floor from cover to cover. No gunshot responded, so I must have moved quickly enough. I set to work. Four minutes later, I felt ready to flee my apartment.

Shepard would come. Knowing me, he would guess that I had left a message for him. He would see the photo of the original _Normandy_ on my nightstand. Knowing _him_ , I felt willing to bet that he would touch it or pick it up. The image would change to a landscape: the Prothean ruins on Eden Prime. That would lead him to the display case and the only remaining record of my call from Sekat. No one else would know me well enough to follow the chain, and at two points only Shepard’s touch would activate the next clue.

It seemed a slim hope, even with Shepard involved, but I had no time to set up anything more certain.

My usual elevator down the side of the building was exposed to the sniper’s nest. I took the stairs instead, ten stories down to the parking garage, rushing so fast I risked breaking my ankles. After a few moments I began _leaping_ down each flight of steps, using my biotics to guide my fall and soften each landing. As I approached the bottom I stopped to listen, but heard nothing to indicate the arrival of armed strangers.

_Strange. One would think the Shadow Broker would cover all the possible exits. This has the scent of a hasty, last-minute operation._

In the parking garage, I briefly checked my aircar for explosive devices, then opened the canopy and leaned in just long enough to opaque the windows and program the autopilot. The car rose into the air, heading for the exit and the ten-minute drive to the T’Soni Analytics office.

_Hopefully that will distract them._

I fled on foot.

A block away, a thought struck me. I glanced around and saw what I needed, a shadowed colonnade that would afford concealment from the sniper’s position, but from which I could watch the front entrance of my apartment building.

I saw plenty of other traffic in the courtyard . . . quite a lot of confusion, in fact. Someone must have reported the gunfire, and now spectators milled about. Then after a few moments, an aircar descended into the courtyard and a single figure emerged, brushing the spectators aside and moving purposefully into the building. An asari, of average height but very strongly built, wearing deep-blue combat armor and carrying weapons. I only got to see her for a moment, at a distance and from the rear, but I recognized her at once.

_Tela Vasir_.

I nodded to myself. I had worked with the asari Spectre a few months before, in the business on Taetrus. She made a considerable impression on me at the time, although not an entirely favorable one. I recalled Nyxeris’s description of the Broker’s operative, nicknamed _the Hammer_.

_A force of nature. Not at all subtle or devious. Overpowering. Ruthless. Utterly relentless._

Yes, that described Vasir.

_A Spectre, working for the Shadow Broker?_

Drawing back into the shadows, I shook my head in chagrin.

_Spectres are a law unto themselves. Why not ally with the Shadow Broker, if it helps accomplish the mission?_

I turned to hurry away. A transit station stood only another city block down the street. With that, I could be at the Dracon Trade Center within half an hour, even on foot. I had to reach Sekat before the Broker’s agents.

With any luck, Vasir would not be able to solve the puzzle I had left behind.

* * *

Two blocks along the city streets, a trip through the mass transit system with one change-over, two more blocks on foot.

It felt strange to cross Nos Astra on my own, no car for me to fly in, no bodyguard to shadow me, just a single asari on the crowded evening streets. Several times I thought I caught a flicker of recognition in a stranger’s eyes, but that seemed innocuous enough. My face had become well-known on Illium. I only feared signs of pursuit, but of that I saw none as I traveled.

Now, search as I might, I could see no evidence of anyone watching the Dracon Trade Center.

_Shepard, you have to know something is wrong by now._

I shook my head, angry with myself.

_You’ve managed to survive for two years without Shepard to protect you. You can handle this._

I checked my omni-tool once more. I could read all my personal files, but I still had no access to the extranet. The Broker’s agents must have infiltrated a virus to shut down my communications. I had considered buying a new omni-tool along the way, but I had no assurance that I could load my ID and authentication tokens onto the new device without infecting it as well. Not to mention that if I tried to place another call, that might betray my location to the Broker’s agents. Thus I remained mute.

I broke from cover and crossed the courtyard to approach the building’s front doors.

No bombs went off. No gunmen leaped out of nowhere to attack. No sniper’s bullets snapped off the pavement by my feet. All seemed peaceful. I passed through a crowd of early-evening visitors on the terrace. The Trade Center loomed over me into the deep violet sky.

As I passed through the front entrance, I began to think that I would make it.

Baria Frontiers took up one wing of the third floor. I hurried through a large atrium, up a sweeping flight of stairs, and announced myself at the front door of their suite. The receptionist was asari, pretty and rather young, showing no signs of fatigue at the end of a long working say.

“Dr. T’Soni. Yes. Mr. Sekat left a note that you might be on your way to see him.”

“Would you page him, please? Something has come up and it’s quite urgent I speak with him.”

“Of course, Doctor. He may be a few minutes. In the meantime, why don’t you sign in and then wait in the lounge, just over there?”

I entered my ID into the log-book and crossed the hall to enter the lounge. At this time of the evening the place was deserted. I felt drawn to the enormous plate window along the back wall of the room, but then I had to remind myself of recent history involving such panoramic views.

_If you can see half of Nos Astra from here, half of Nos Astra can see you. And put a sniper rifle round through your center of mass_.

I looked out the window, but I did it from one side, my body mostly concealed behind the casement and my face in shadows. I saw people moving in the courtyard far below, aircars constantly moving in their lanes, Nos Astra coming alive with lights on all sides. Truly, I lived in a beautiful city. I took a deep breath and permitted myself a moment’s sense of peace and aesthetic virtue.

A yellow aircar settled on the parking deck, down by the courtyard. I glanced at it just in time to see the canopy pop open.

Tela Vasir emerged . . . _with Shepard_.

I cursed, as the flaw in my plan became glaringly obvious. _Of course_ Vasir wouldn’t be able to find my clues – but she could introduce herself to Shepard, ingratiate herself to him, and get _him_ to follow the trail of logic for her.

_First you turn your back on Nyxeris, now this. Are you **trying** to get yourself killed?_

I tried once again to open my omni-tool and call Shepard, Aspasia, Vara, Quintus, _anyone_. Useless.

Then something else caught my eye. Movement, high above the aircar lanes, something large that hovered. At first I had difficulty seeing it against the darkening sky. Then it belched fire and smoke.

I turned and ran, got away from that enormous window, got out of the waiting area and into the hallway.

The receptionist glanced at me with a puzzled expression.

“ _Run! Get under cover!_ ” I shouted.

My biotics came to life in a snap-surge, a blue-white corona wrapping around me like a caul as I hurled myself through a glass partition separating the corridor from an office block. I rolled across the floor in a shower of glass shards, scrambled to tuck myself under a massive desk with my arms protecting my face, and called up a barrier so strong it set off a fierce pain in the back of my head.

_WHOOM._

The world dissolved in fire.


	42. Molto Vivace

**_29 July 2185, Dracon Trade Center, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

First I realized that I remained alive.

Then I realized that I felt _sick unto death_ of being caught in enormous explosions. Almost from the moment Saren rebelled, the universe never seemed to tire of firing rockets at me. Therum, Luna, Rayingri, the Citadel, even in the midst of one of Earth’s greatest cities, and now this.

At least my barriers were getting plenty of practice.

Slowly, painfully, I squirmed and crawled my way out from under the heavy desk that had sheltered me.

I emerged into chaos: shattered and broken furniture, shards of glass all over the floor, the fire-suppression system scattering water everywhere. I saw an enormous hole in the side of the building, exposing most of that level to the open air.

A sudden thought made me glance in the direction where I had last seen the receptionist. Then I immediately wished I hadn’t. She had not been able to reach cover or put up a barrier in time.

_Voices_. Harsh, distorted by electronics, hollow as if sounding from inside helmets, faint but growing louder very quickly. Armed troopers, about to make an appearance.

_It makes sense. First a rocket attack suppresses all possible resistance. Then troops come in to secure the location._

Deep in a shadowed corner, I dug into a pocket of my jacket. A pair of light HUD goggles went over my eyes, a unit the size of a pack of cards plugged into my shield generator. I completed the installation just as the front door to the Baria Frontiers office suite slid open and armored figures appeared.

“Secure the entire area,” ordered one of the troopers, a male human by the voice. “We’re looking for an asari and a salarian, but let’s play it safe and shoot anything that moves.”

“Copy that,” said another trooper as they fanned out.

I touched the activation stud. I heard a low hum for just a moment, and saw light bend and twist across my arms and body. Then I winked out of visibility. Nothing would betray my presence but the water falling from the fire-suppression system, and I could mitigate even that if I moved slowly and carefully.

_Good thing I held onto Nyxeris’s tactical cloak._

For a moment I didn’t move, knowing the cloak wouldn’t prevent me from making _noise_. I concentrated on controlling my breathing, staying in the shadows, and observing the enemy. Ten of them poured into the suite, then twenty, then more. Most of them appeared human, but I saw a few asari and salarians among them, probably biotic and engineering specialists. All of them wore similar armor, white with black accents, with a strange red triangular insignia on the breast. They didn’t resemble any mercenary group I recognized.

_The Shadow Broker’s private army_. _Can I get to Sekat before they do?_

I had to try.

I moved as quickly as I could, staying out of the main corridors and trying to maintain a map in my mind of where all the Broker’s men had deployed. It seemed slow going, but at least the cloak prevented anyone from spotting me by accident.

Then I heard gunfire. A _lot_ of gunfire, coming from behind me, back toward the entrance to the suite.

At that moment I could see three of the Broker’s men, stationed in an intersection of two hallways. They heard the gunfire too, and turned to move toward it. For a moment they had their backs to me.

_A perfect opportunity._

I threw a _singularity_ into their midst, the biotic surge taking down my tactical cloak. They hung helpless in midair while I opened fire with my Shuriken, grinding down their defenses long enough for my biotics to recover. A _warp_ tossed into the middle of the vortex . . .

_WHAM_.

By the time the Broker’s next squad came pelting down a flight of stairs, following the noise, I had the cloak back on. I crouched in the shadow of a work-table as they passed.

“What the hell?” demanded one, looking at the shattered bodies of the soldiers I had just killed.

“It’s Shepard,” said a female voice. “He must have some of his pet biotics with him.”

“But . . .”

“Never mind! Come on, let’s set up an ambush for him here.”

I cursed silently as they deployed around the intersection. Seven of them, and Shepard couldn’t have more than two of his allies with him if they had all come in Vasir’s aircar.

_Come to think of it, where is Vasir?_

I had a horrible thought. The asari Spectre, using her aircar to fly up to the roof, moving _down_ through the building, searching for Sekat while I engaged the Broker’s disposable soldiers . . .

Seven of the Broker’s men waited in ambush. Possibly three of my friends were coming, Shepard leading them. Not a problem, as long as he had ample warning.

I positioned myself just behind a corner, visualized the sequence of events I wanted.

Ducked out. Flung a _warp_ down the long corridor, bringing down the cloak.

The warp sailed _past_ the Broker’s startled soldiers, to crash harmlessly into a wall thirty meters away. Just ahead of Shepard’s most likely position.

Before any of the enemy could glance in my direction, I re-activated the cloak, turned, and fled up the stairs they had just come down. As soon as I had broken line-of-sight, I breathed more easily.

A thunder of gunfire erupted behind me, Shepard engaging the squad I had just painted for him. Unseen, I grinned like a creature of human myth: the Cheshire Cat.

Unfortunately I didn’t know the layout of the building, and while avoiding another squad of Broker troops I took a wrong turn. I searched cubicle after empty cubicle and found no sign of Sekat. Before long, I realized that the area was devoted to line workers; a Principal Consultant like Sekat would almost certainly have his own office space somewhere else.

Suddenly I heard the sounds of combat elsewhere on the same floor, and realized that _Shepard_ had found the right trail. I shook my head and moved as quickly as I dared, following his lead.

The sounds of combat dwindled to nothing. I found Broker’s soldiers strewn along the corridors, dead or dying. I hurried.

Up ahead, the deep roar of a shotgun. Then again. Silence.

I paused behind a corner, still with the tactical cloak in place, and looked up ahead.

“ _Damn_ it. If I’d been a few seconds faster, I could’ve stopped them.” Vasir stood over the corpse of one of the Broker’s men. Behind her, Sekat lay crumpled and pathetic on the floor, an enormous greenish bloodstain spread across the wall above him.

Shepard stood there with two female humans, all three of them looking around the office where Sekat had died. Miranda I recognized at once, poised and beautiful as always, dressed in black combat armor with a sidearm in her hand. The other woman seemed shorter and more wiry, wearing nothing but a pair of baggy trousers, a minimal harness for her breasts, and a _magnificent_ array of tattoos. With a shock, I realized that I recognized her too.

_Jack?_

Shepard bent over the salarian’s corpse. “Is this Sekat?”

“Must have been,” said Vasir dismissively.

He made a quick but professional search of the body. “No sign of the data Liara talked about. Looks like a dead end.”

“That’s too bad.” None of the humans noticed, but Vasir’s body language _radiated_ tension and deception. “Speaking of which, did you find your friend’s body?”

I knew a dramatic cue when I heard one. I turned off the tactical cloak, tucked the goggles into a pocket of my jacket, and advanced into the office with my sidearm leveled at Vasir’s head. “You mean _this_ body?”

“Liara!” Shepard’s head whipped around to stare at me. Then he saw my gun, and enthusiasm turned to caution. “Is there something I should know?”

I turned my head slightly to address him, never taking my eyes off Vasir. “This is the asari who tried to kill me.”

Vasir backed up toward a big plate window, giving me a vicious smile. “You’ve obviously had a _really_ rough day, so I’ll let that one slide. Why don’t you put that gun down?”

“I saw you! I doubled back after I left. I saw you go inside my building.”

“You didn’t know where Liara went, because she hid the message.” Shepard turned and leveled his own sidearm at Vasir. Miranda and Jack followed suit. “You needed _me_ to find it for you.”

“Thanks for the help,” said Vasir, casting deception aside.

I nodded. “Once she had my location, she must have signaled the Shadow Broker’s forces. They bombed the building to take me out.”

Vasir shifted her weight, folding her arms, looking completely at ease. Yet her eyes never ceased moving, watching all of us, looking for an opportunity.

“She found Sekat, took his data, and killed him,” I continued. “I’m guessing she still has the disk on her.”

“Well?” asked Shepard, his voice suddenly tense with menace.

Vasir seemed completely unconcerned at four-to-one odds. Her smile only grew wider. Her hands disappeared behind her back for a moment, and then one reappeared, holding a small data storage device of salarian make. “Good guess. Not that you’ll ever see what’s on it . . .”

A surge of biotic power, _behind_ the Spectre. The plate window before which she stood suddenly shattered.

“. . . you pureblood _bitch!_ ”

Vasir made a sweeping gesture.

Thousands of glass shards flew through the air at us.

Four biotics immediately put up a powerful defensive bubble. Even Shepard contributed, the first time I had ever seen him _use_ his new capabilities. The glass rebounded away from us in all directions, making an enormous crystalline clatter.

Vasir probably hadn’t expected to harm us with her biotic display, but it did make a fine distraction. Even while the glass still flew, she turned to jump through the window frame.

Shepard moved like a machine, trembling with tension a moment before, now with the brakes suddenly released. He _leaped_ forward from a cold start, his armor shedding the last of the glass shards, and tackled Vasir in mid-air. The Spectre shouted in astonishment as both of them flew through the gap and fell into the atrium several stories below.

“Shepard!” yelled Miranda.

We all heard Vasir shout once more, this time in triumph.

“Oh _Goddess_ ,” I remarked, and hurled myself into empty space after them.

I got only a glimpse of Shepard sprawled on the floor of the atrium, Vasir standing over him like an angel of war, a corona of biotic power gathering around her left hand. Then she glanced up and saw me plummeting toward her.

She turned and ran like a thief.

Shepard started to roll to his feet. I _still_ didn’t recognize that obsidian-black armor he wore, but it was obviously very tough. He fell to second on my priority list.

_Vasir is getting away!_

I hit the ground running, and went in hot pursuit.

Vasir vanished around a corner, heading for the first level and the main exits from the building. Two of the Broker’s men appeared in her wake, leveling weapons at me.

My corona blazed white. I gestured twice. One trooper fell back with his chest-plate crushed in. The other flew ten meters through the air and crashed head-first into a wall, shattering his spine.

Behind me I heard renewed gunfire. I did not look back.

As I pelted down the steps onto the first level, I saw the Spectre sprinting across the open floor.

“ _Vasir!_ ” I shouted, and hurled my biotics at her. Right hand, left hand, right hand, _warp-warp-warp_.

The telekinetic vibration-fields struck her barriers and staggered her . . . but only for a moment. She whirled in the very doorway of the building and threw a shockwave back in my direction.

I had seen her shockwaves before, on Taetrus, and I had a lot of respect for them. I flash-stepped to the side and crouched in the lee of a massive support column as the barrage of force flew past me. Then I rolled out and pursued her again. Just in time to see her _flash-charge_ across the entire terrace in a fraction of a second.

Vasir rolled into cover behind a large vehicle at the far end of the terrace, as I sprinted out into the open and began peppering her with fire from my Shuriken. I found my own cover as she popped up and fired her shotgun at me. My shields flared, deflecting some of the pellets.

_Too close. She’s very fast_.

I fired again, ducked down again as she threw a shockwave with one hand and a shotgun blast with the other.

Stalemate. If I charged her she would blow me to shreds. I wished for a grenade, a rocket launcher, _anything_ that might force her out of that cover.

_Shepard, I know I was resolved to handle this on my own, but more guns would **really** be useful right now._

Vasir lifted her head out of cover for a moment, looking at me . . . no, _behind_ me. I fired a burst at her but she ducked down too quickly. I glanced over my shoulder to see what had attracted her attention.

Shepard jogged out onto the terrace, Miranda and Jack mere steps behind him.

I could feel the vicious smile on my face as I spun to watch the place where Vasir was concealed. I hammered her cover with suppressive fire.

_The terrace ends only two meters further on, Vasir. You don’t have anywhere left to go_.

Then she proved me wrong. Suddenly she erupted out of her cover. I fired a long burst, but she moved so fast I couldn’t bring my sidearm to bear. Then she simply jumped off the edge of the terrace, her biotic corona flaring.

_No. That’s a fifty meter drop. It’s not possible_ . . .

I reached the edge of the terrace just in time to see a yellow aircar sweep in from beneath the terrace, scooping her up. The canopy slammed closed the moment she was in the control seat, and the car began to accelerate. I fired a few more shots after it. Useless.

“ _Damn it!_ ”

“Liara?”

I whirled, scanned the closest vehicles, saw a red aircar marked as a taxi. My omni-tool seemed functional enough to reserve the vehicle . . . and also functional enough to hack the on-board computer and permit manual control. I hurried over to it and threw myself into the front seat.

Shepard watched me with a _very_ odd expression on his face, some combination of admiration and utter shock. I wondered if I had changed more than he expected.

“Come on,” I snapped. “ _She’s getting away._ ”

Shepard climbed into the front seat next to me while the two women piled into the back. “I’m fine, actually, thanks for asking.”

“Good. Now _let’s go_.”

“Right.” Quick as a striking serpent, Shepard reached out and locked the controls so that _he_ had the pilot’s position.

_At least he’s a rated pilot._

The car rose into the air and surged in pursuit of Vasir.

I looked around frantically, saw the yellow aircar dwindling into the distance, swinging to the right into a traffic lane. “There she is!”

“I’m on it,” said Shepard tensely. The engines cut into high-output mode, pressing all of us back into our seat cushions. He banked sharply to the right, then to the left, following Vasir.

“Can anyone explain to me what data we’re trying to recover?” said Miranda from the back seat.

“Sekat traced a message we think was sent directly from the Shadow Broker,” I explained. “We may be able to locate his headquarters.”

“Damn!” muttered Jack. “Nobody’s _ever_ been able to manage that.”

“What do you do if you find the Shadow Broker?” asked Shepard, never taking his eyes off the distant fleck of color that was Vasir’s aircar.

My face went grim. “I hit him with a biotic field so strong, they’ll have to scoop what’s left of him into a teacup.”

For a moment, a tense silence reigned in the car.

A sharp left turn, and then Vasir took a shortcut through . . . “We’re not going through the construction site, are – _oh Goddess!_ ”

Shepard didn’t hesitate for an instant. He actually accelerated as we flew _through_ a building, girders and support pylons flashing by centimeters away on either side.

On the one hand, we actually seemed to be gaining on Vasir. On the other hand, I was beginning to have strong doubts as to whether we would survive to catch her.

Around another corner, then we zoomed into the Karas Towers tunnel, then through it. Vasir jinked upward, aiming for a narrow gap between two large transport vehicles. A _narrowing_ gap.

“Go go go go _go_ _go go!_ ” I shouted.

“I’m _going_ ,” said Shepard laconically.

“Geeze, Blue, get a grip.” Jack’s voice, from the back seat.

We flashed between the two trucks with a few meters to spare on either side. But then . . .

“Traffic! _Oncoming_ traffic!”

Vasir had turned into _the wrong lane_ , flying along with almost no clearance above the approaching aircars. Shepard gave himself a _little_ more room, but stayed on her tail. “We’ll be fine,” was his only comment.

“Liara, you are a _terrible_ back-seat driver,” observed Miranda.

I frowned. Clearly a human idiom hadn’t translated quite right. “But I’m not _in_ the back seat.”

Miranda indulged in an eloquent silence.

Vasir soon turned again, diving through another short tunnel and getting into a clear lane. For a moment she held a straight, unwavering line. Just long enough to drop _something_ into our path.

“Proximity charges!” Miranda shouted.

“I noticed,” said Shepard calmly.

Two charges. Three. Shepard’s face set grimly as he gunned the engines, making only the smallest of swerves to avoid the mines. The fourth went off, three meters to our right, blowing us slightly off course. All of us jostled for a moment. Shepard gripped the controls, jinking upward to take us over another large truck, missing it by less than a meter.

Up ahead, another tunnel. Jack suddenly made a sarcastic grunt. Above the tunnel entrance, an enormous sign: _WARNING_ , and front and side images of . . . Jack herself.

“Always said it was nice to be _wanted_ ,” the pirate remarked.

Miranda groaned.

I had other concerns. An explosion occurred just behind and to our right, then another at a greater distance to our left. I craned my neck and saw small transport vehicles zooming in from the side, armed figures crouching in their open cargo beds. “She’s got reinforcements!”

Shepard scanned the controls in front of him for a moment. “What kind of guns does this thing have?”

“It’s a taxi, Shepard. It has a _fare meter_.”

“ _Wonderful!_ ”

The chase flashed into another tunnel, going _much_ too fast for local speed ordinances. Vasir managed to make a sharp right turn, but one of the Shadow Broker’s teams didn’t quite follow. Their transport slammed head-on into . . .

“Truck!”

The accident compounded itself, the truck swinging wide, swatting four or five passenger cars out of the air. Fuel and eezo cores began to explode on all sides.

“ _Truck!_ ”

“I know!” Somehow Shepard saw an opening where I saw only chaos and death. He made a tiny correction to our course and gunned the engines.

I emitted a short scream.

We flashed through, into the clear.

“ _There_ we go!” exclaimed Shepard.

I glanced across at him, saw him _smiling_. “You’re _enjoying_ this,” I accused him.

He spared me a glance and a wide grin, and something deep in my belly flared with sudden heat.

_Goddess, he may be ugly and reckless but he’s absolutely magnificent as well. Miranda, at the moment I don’t **care** how you two may feel about each other. He is my human. **Mine**._

Ahead of us, Vasir lost her second escort to a grazing collision with a passenger vehicle. Her own course became increasingly ragged. Then she grazed the surface of a cargo carrier and recoiled to the right, trailing smoke.

“We have her!” I yelled, then: “ _Truck!_ ”

“What, _again?_ ” Shepard deftly avoided the obstacle and roared along Vasir’s smoke-trail.

We had her. A great banked arc through the air, and we came even with Vasir’s car. Shepard and I looked to our right and saw the Spectre staring at us, an expression of fierce hatred on her face.

She banked left, slamming her car into ours.

Shepard’s eyes narrowed. He went _with_ Vasir’s maneuver, pulling away to the left. I didn’t understand why, until another aircar zoomed through the space between us, its hazard signal blaring.

Vasir blundered into the path of another vehicle, which crashed into her from the side. She grimly accepted the damage, and then swerved back to her original path, swooping in to engage us once more. For a few moments she and Shepard fought a duel of collisions, each trying to knock the other out of control.

Shepard won. A final collision, then he abruptly disengaged, swerving to the left once more.

Vasir’s aircar collided head-on with another at top speed.

“She couldn’t _possibly_ have survived that!” said Miranda.

Certainly the other aircar did not, catching on fire and falling out of the sky. Vasir’s vehicle – and Vasir herself – seemed made of sterner stuff. She fell too, but it was a _controlled_ destruction: stumbling out of the air, trailing smoke and flames, until she made a crash-landing on the terrace of an _ouranonikos_ building.

“We’ve got to recover the data,” I said. “Shepard . . .”

He nodded. “On our way.”

He brought our car around and prepared to land us on Hotel Azure.


	43. Capriccioso

**_29 July 2185, Hotel Azure, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

Vasir’s aircar had come to rest on an apartment’s porch, canted at a weird angle. We saw no place to set down safely next to the wreckage, so Shepard took us around the side of the building to a parking deck on the same level.

“We can cut through the building . . .” I began as we emerged from the taxi.

“Too late!” Miranda sang out, pointing out into the city.

More light cargo vehicles converged on our position, carrying the Shadow Broker’s troops in their open cargo beds. We had only a few seconds to prepare.

Shepard reached over his shoulder and produced a massive combat shotgun. “All right. Miranda, I want you to pick out the engineers and overload their shields. Liara, as each vehicle arrives I want you to plant the biggest singularity you can right in the middle of the cargo bed. I know you can both do that _warp_ thing, so don’t be shy about setting off biotic detonations. Stay back, stay together and under cover, and use your SMGs to pick off stray enemies when you’re not violating the laws of nature.”

“What are you and Jack going to do?” I asked.

Jack gave me a sudden suspicious stare.

Shepard grinned and worked the action of his shotgun. “We’re the shock troops. Now _go!_ _”_

Miranda and I moved for cover behind a large planter, taking up positions where we could watch each other’s backs.

The first cargo truck settled to the deck, blocking our entrance to the building, and the sides of the cargo bed folded down. Miranda saw a single salarian engineer and took out his shields. I dropped a singularity in their midst, pulling most of them up to whirl helplessly in the air.

The Broker’s men never had a chance.

Shepard and Jack swept in from the flanks. One of the Broker’s men managed to regain his feet, just in time for Shepard to yank him into the air once more with a vicious telekinetic pull. Jack produced a blazing _shockwave_ , knocking another man head over heels. The engineer opened fire, a single burst that Jack’s shields deflected, and then the two of them leaped into a confused melee. _Crash. Crash_. Their shotguns blazed, and no enemies remained.

“Another truck, coming in from the southeast!” I called.

“On it,” said Shepard calmly.

Again Miranda and I incapacitated the Broker’s men before they could begin the fight. This time Shepard and Jack had more ground to cross before they could administer the coup, and the Broker’s men had time to recover somewhat. Miranda opened fire with her Shuriken, but I rose out of cover and threw a _warp_ to detonate my earlier singularity. The resulting _BOOM_ echoed across the city like thunder, flinging the Broker’s men in all directions. By the time Shepard and Jack arrived, little remained to mop up.

The fight went on like that. The three of them fought like a well-coordinated unit: Shepard always maintaining perfect situational awareness, Jack charging in like an attack beast to savage the enemy, Miranda calmly watching for and ruthlessly exploiting opportunities. I felt like the odd asari out, more than two years since I had fought as one of Shepard’s team, but it didn’t take me long to find a role. Only I could pin down multiple foes with a singularity’s vortex, and my warps were much stronger than Miranda’s. So I stayed with her in our central location and acted as artillery support, damaging the enemy, pinning them down so my allies could trap and kill them.

It seemed to go on for a long time, but in truth it couldn’t have been more than about five minutes. The Shadow Broker’s men didn’t coordinate their attacks; they simply came at us in waves and broke on our defense. Given our combined tactics, I don’t think any of us were ever in serious danger.

The last attackers tried to land in a rear corner of the parking deck, but just as they were on final approach, an aircar suddenly went into motion on autopilot. It rose directly into their path. The resulting collision forced all of us to dive for cover. The Broker’s men fell from twenty meters up, some of them dying on impact, the rest unable to put up much resistance. Their vehicle ended by veering away and crashing through a glass partition.

We cautiously emerged from cover in the sudden silence, half-expecting another attack, but none came.

I saw where that last vehicle had crash-landed, and realized it had torn open a path for us. “Come on! We can climb over there to get to Vasir’s car.”

The four of us climbed over a low wall, Shepard and me in the lead, Miranda and Jack following, our boots crunching on the scattered glass.

“Hey, Blue,” called Jack. “How’d you know who I am? Come across my name while you were doing your information broker crap?”

I glanced back at her. “Actually, we’ve met . . . although I was in disguise at the time.”

She frowned, thinking hard, and then she gave me a fierce glare. “You were that pirate bitch!”

Shepard _stared_ at me for a moment, and then snapped his gaze around to watch his quarter as before.

“Kalliste Renai was a cover identity,” I admitted. I carefully did _not_ look at her as I continued: “I was sorry to hear about Murtock. I liked him.”

Jack fell silent for a moment. “Yeah. Shit happens.”

A locked apartment door blocked our path, but Miranda soon hacked it open. Inside the apartment was spacious and luxuriously appointed. We found three LOKI security mechs, all smashed and scattered across the floor.

Shepard held up a fist. All of us froze in our tracks. Then we could hear what had attracted his attention: an asari voice, coming from behind the door to the bedroom, accompanied by . . . music?

Shepard signaled to Miranda, and they took up positions on either side of the door. A moment later all four of us went surging into the room, spreading out in a perfect space-covering formation.

“ . . . Please let me live. Please let me live. I’ll do the mantras every week. I’ll give to charity. I’ll go back to the Citadel and get a good job, I swear.”

Two people had taken refuge in the room. One was a male human, pale-skinned, hairy, overweight, wearing a gaudy silk robe, cowering _under_ the enormous platform bed. The other was an asari, wearing nothing but a tiny undergarment, curled into a tight ball in the darkest corner of the room, her arms wrapped over her head to shut out the world. We had heard her voice, a desperate chanting prayer.

“What happened here?” asked Shepard, lowering his weapon.

“Hey, we’re unarmed!” the human shouted from his position of concealment. “We heard gunfire, explosions, someone came crashing through the outer room. We didn’t _see_ anything!”

“All right. Just keep your heads down and you should be okay.”

“Right!”

Jack had crossed the room to stare with fascination at the wall-screen. I glanced at the images being displayed and shook my head. They were tasteful by asari standards, but there was no denying their pornographic nature.

“What kind of place _is_ this?” she demanded, sly bemusement in her voice.

I sighed. “It’s called Azure. It’s a luxury resort hotel with an . . . _exotic_ edge.”

“I’ll say. Wonder what it costs to stay here? With _room service_ , of course.”

“We are _not_ having this conversation,” I snapped, turning to leave the room.

“I suspect if you have to ask, you can’t afford it,” remarked Shepard as all of them followed.

Jack was persistent. “Why _Azure?_ ”

“ _Azure_ is Illium slang for a part of the asari body, which often serves as an erogenous zone,” I answered.

She gave me a wicked grin. “Where?”

“Mostly in the lower reaches, near the bottom.”

“Oh. So _that’s_ what that’s called,” muttered Shepard.

Miranda made a sound that might have been momentary respiratory distress.

 _Goddess help me, I am about to strangle someone. Possibly several someones._ “May we _please_ concentrate on the matter of catching Vasir? There’s her car.”

“No sign of Vasir herself,” observed Shepard.

We surrounded the ruined vehicle, Miranda climbing partway inside to look for Sekat’s data, the rest of us searching the floor on all sides for clues.

Shepard bent low to look at the floor. “Liara! A blood trail.”

Now that he had pointed it out, I saw it as well: a trail of drippings in the distinctive indigo color of asari blood. “She must have been badly hurt in the crash.”

“Not bad enough to keep her from walking away,” said Jack.

“It should still slow her down,” said Shepard. “Miranda?”

The Cerberus operative stood up again, shaking her head. “No sign of the data. She must still have it.”

“Come on,” said Shepard.

We followed the blood trail, continuing around the side of the hotel. It wasn’t hard to follow once we had spotted it.

“Bitch has lost a _lot_ of blood,” said Jack. “We have to be getting close.”

Shepard nodded in agreement. “She’s tough, I’ll give her that much.”

“She’s a Spectre,” I said quietly.

Up ahead, we heard voices once more: an asari voice, pleading loudly. Then a scream, and the sounds of gunfire and breaking glass. Shepard and I exchanged a horrified glance, and then we broke into a run, Miranda and Jack following close behind.

Too late. Vasir’s blood trail led through another apartment, and this time not only mechs lay broken on the floor. Three asari lay there, two of them only a few moments dead, one with a massive shotgun blast to her midsection, the other with a broken neck. The third still lived, barely. Shepard took a moment to apply medi-gel and call in an emergency response unit, while I stood over him and looked around for more clues. Vasir had to have been _there,_ less than three minutes before.

“Look over there,” said Miranda, pointing at another door out of the apartment. Not far from the activation panel, I saw a large handprint-shaped smear in indigo.

We hurried.

Ahead of us we found a deep terrace with planters and shallow pools, the upper levels occupied by a number of humans and asari seated at round tables. It appeared to be an open-air dining area, managed by one of Azure’s fine restaurants.

Vasir staggered slowly past the cheerful diners, about thirty meters away from us, hardly seeming to pay any attention to her path. Even from our distance, we could see the fall of her blood on the floor.

“Careful,” Shepard warned us in a low voice. “I never worked with Vasir, but she had a reputation in the Spectre corps. Don’t count her out yet.”

“I _have_ seen her in action, and I concur.” I raised my voice to call out. _“Vasir! It’s over!”_

The asari Spectre stopped. Turned painfully, holding one hand to her side. Stared at us for a long moment. Then she seemed to come alive, fueled by sheer rage. She looked about, saw a young female human holding a datapad a few steps away, probably a member of the restaurant’s wait staff.

“Hey!” she grated, her voice gone hoarse with pain and stress. “Hey, _you_. Come here.”

Suddenly Vasir flash-stepped over to the woman, grabbing her in a merciless hold and pressing a pistol to her victim’s head. We heard screams from the other diners as they realized what was happening, began a sudden rush for the safety of the doors to the inside.

“What’s your name?” Vasir asked the girl, almost gently.

“M-Mariana,” she stuttered, trembling.

Vasir’s voice became saccharine-sweet. “Mariana, you want to live, don’t you? Tell those people that you want to live.”

The girl’s eyes searched, found us as we stopped about ten meters away. “Please . . .”

“We’ll get you out of here safely, Mariana,” said Shepard reassuringly.

“Well, _that’s_ good to hear,” smirked Vasir. “This was never about you, Shepard. All you had to do was walk away. Now it gets ugly.”

“Please,” Mariana quavered, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. “I have a son.”

“A son?” Vasir’s voice fell, became silken smooth, but her eyes never left Shepard’s face. “I hope he gets to see you again. I’ve heard losing a parent is just horrific for children. Scars them for life.”

I heard a low growl from Shepard. I remembered Benezia and gritted my own teeth. “I’m going to end you, Vasir.”

Shepard shook his head, keeping his shotgun trained on Vasir. “It’s okay, Liara. We’ll handle it. _The usual way_ _.”_

My eyes narrowed as I understood his intent. Without letting go of my Shuriken, I began to call up my biotic power. It seemed difficult, without making a control gesture or permitting a corona to form anywhere on my body, but I knew those things only served as a crutch.

_The mind is what matters, in the end._

“You want Mariana’s little boy to grow up without a mommy, Shepard? Thermal clips on the ground, _now_. Power cells too.”

Behind Vasir and to her left, a table trembled, and then rose slightly into the air.

Shepard’s voice went absolutely flat. “Is that it?”

_“What?”_

He stood straight and tall, like a statue carved out of volcanic glass. “Vasir. Remember who you’re dealing with. I sacrificed hundreds of human lives to save the _Destiny Ascension_. I unleashed the rachni on the galaxy. So for your sake, I hope your escape plan doesn’t hinge on me _hesitating to shoot a damn hostage_.”

A chill went down my spine. His voice had gone so cold that for a moment, even I believed it.

So did Vasir. For the first time, I saw a flicker of fear in her eyes. She didn’t release Mariana, but her sidearm leaped forward, like a shield against Shepard’s ruthlessness. “You’re bluffing.”

The moment Mariana wasn’t in immediate danger: that was my cue. Finally my corona flared around my right hand, my arm, and my shoulders. I brought that hand around in a tight arc, ending with a clenched fist to my forehead.

Vasir saw the gesture and _almost_ responded in time. She began to step back, pulling Mariana with her . . .

The table came soaring in from her blind spot, smashing into her wounded side, breaking her grip on the woman and hurling her a dozen meters through the air. An enormous _splash_ went up as she landed full-length in a shallow pool.

Shepard and I sprinted forward. He took a position to stand protectively over Mariana, his firearm trained on the spot where Vasir had vanished into the water.

I helped the girl up. “You’re safe now, Mariana. Get inside. Run!”

She shook her head to clear it, and followed my advice. I had a moment to look up at Shepard.

“I love you,” I told him.

He didn’t move, but a smile spread across his face.

“Is she dead?” asked Jack, staring into the pool. The water still moved . . .

It _erupted_. Vasir suddenly hovered in midair, three meters up, screaming a war-cry, a biotic goddess about to smite her foes. Then blinding white light flashed, and she stood on the other side of the terrace, bringing her shotgun to bear on us.

 _“Move!”_ shouted Shepard.

Miranda and Jack dove to either side. Shepard caught me around the waist and bore me to the floor behind a low wall, just as a _hellishly_ powerful shockwave roared over our position.

Vasir’s voice: “Let me show you what a _real_ Spectre can do, you jumped-up _ape!_ _”_

“Liara. You and Miranda keep your heads down, and keep hammering Vasir with your biotics. She’s got barriers like diamond. It will take a _lot_ of work to bring them down.” Shepard checked his shotgun, obviously preparing to leap into battle.

“Shepard, be careful. If she catches you out in the open . . .”

He took a split second to give me a wild grin. “I don’t think that will be a problem.”

Then he seemed to vibrate, shimmer with power . . . and he simply _vanished_.

A streak of white light, twin to Vasir’s own, flashed across the battlefield. Suddenly Shepard was _there_ , right in the Spectre’s personal space, his right fist lashing out across her jaw like a sledgehammer. Vasir recoiled, staggered back . . . and Shepard ruthlessly fired his shotgun at her from point-blank range. _Crash. Crash. Crash_.

Vasir _did not go down_. Critically injured, bleeding, just knocked back by a flash-charge as perfect as her own, three heavy shotgun blasts to the body . . . and she simply snarled, gestured, and triggered another charge to carry her away from Shepard.

He followed at once.

Suddenly I saw Shepard’s tactic. Left to herself, Vasir could pick us off one by one, moving to flank and then flash-charging in to slam her chosen target with body-breaking force. Among us, only Shepard wore heavy combat armor, only he might have been able to stand up to her charge. I suspect even Jack, as tough as she was, wouldn’t have been able to survive it.

The Spectre never had the time.

Over and over she triggered her charge to get away from Shepard, win a breathing space to evaluate the battlefield . . . but Shepard pressed her ruthlessly. Always he was mere seconds behind her, exploding into her face, hammering at her with his shotgun, never giving her a moment’s rest.

I flung biotic warps at Vasir, as quickly as I could. Miranda moved across the battlefield with cool poise, swiveling to keep her Shuriken trained on Vasir no matter how she tried to escape. Jack sprinted across the field, a powerful shockwave rolling before her, a stream of frustrated obscenities trailing behind, as she struggled to keep up with the battling titans on foot.

At one point I found myself in cover only two meters away from Miranda. “I have to ask” – _warp_ – “how in the name of the Goddess” – _warp_ – “you managed to give Shepard _this_ capability?”

“To be honest, I’m not entirely sure,” she admitted, popping out of cover to throw a warp of her own and fire a burst from her sidearm. “We made him a biotic. We acquired an absolutely top-of-the-line amp for him. Asari technology, bleeding-edge. Jacob tells me that when he awoke, it took him about five minutes to realize what he could do, and then he started throwing pulls and shockwaves like a trained adept.”

“Possibly my memories of biotic training gave him an advantage,” I observed.

Vasir suddenly appeared with a _boom_ of displaced air, two meters away and _behind us_ , her face like that of a child at Midsummer to find us thus exposed. We barely had time to throw a warp and a burst of gunfire in her direction . . . but then Shepard flash-charged in, his shotgun booming. Vasir snarled and vanished, Shepard pursuing her a moment later.

“No doubt,” said Miranda, as if nothing had happened. “Still, this _vanguard_ function surprised everyone. We first saw it on Horizon. He seemed to teleport across the field, to take out a Collector sniper in a protected position.”

“Miranda Lawson, you do very good work.”

For the first time since I had known her, she gave me a wide and honest _smile_. “Liara T’Soni, I do _perfect_ work.”

“Heads up, ladies!” Jack sprinted past us . . . toward another open-topped vehicle about to land on the terrace. More of the Shadow Broker’s men.

“Look out!” warned Shepard from where he was harassing Vasir.

“Stay on Vasir,” Miranda shouted. “We’ve got this.”

“Finally, a target I can keep up with,” snarled Jack. “I have _got_ to learn that trick. _Hit ‘em, Blue!_ _”_

Miranda overloaded the engineer’s shields. I put down a singularity to hinder the soldiers, render them vulnerable. Then Jack came down like an _arktos_ on its prey. Without Shepard, she stood alone against the Broker’s men, but she more than made up for it with sheer savagery. Her fists smashed down with all her considerable biotic strength behind them. A flying kick crushed a salarian’s throat. She wielded her shotgun as nimbly as a rapier, firing over and over.

“Jack, _get down!_ _”_ I shouted.

She dove to the side, just as my warp set up a detonation. _BOOM_.

“Twelve seconds to take out six armored troopers,” said Miranda dispassionately. “We’re improving with practice.”

“I have to wonder what Cerberus did to produce _her_ _,”_ I said quietly.

“Horrible things,” she admitted. “The Illusive Man moved to shut the Teltin facility down as soon as he knew what had happened there, but by then it was too late. A riot had wrecked the place. We didn’t learn what happened to Subject Zero until years later.”

I was tempted to press the issue, but then Vasir and Shepard returned to our part of the field, and all of us kept busy for a few moments wearing away at the Spectre’s barriers.

In fact, that was the point when we hit her with two biotic warps and two shotgun blasts, almost at the same instant. Her barriers _finally_ went down.

Leaving us only her armor to deal with.

Jack and Shepard pressed her from both sides, fists flying and shotguns blasting away, and she had to flash-retreat once more. Shepard followed, leaving Jack behind to rest for a moment. Breathing like a bellows, she shook her head. “What is it going to take to _kill that bitch?_ _”_

Miranda calmly flipped a switch on her Shuriken. An indicator blazed red. “Fire.”

Jack’s full lips twisted into a truly _vicious_ grin.

We converged on the Spectre.

It didn’t take long after that. With her biotic barriers gone, the heart seemed to go out of Vasir. She kept fighting, never giving up, but I think she realized that she had finally met her match. Biotic warps and incendiary rounds soon ruined what remained of her armor. Then one of Shepard’s flash-charges caught her with her back to a concrete pillar, like hot iron between the hammer and anvil. All of us could hear the sickening wet _crunch_ as something ruptured inside her body. Her biotic corona finally sputtered out, her shotgun fell from weakened fingers, and she slumped to the ground in a pool of blood.

“Damn it! Damn it,” she groaned.

I stepped up to the dying Spectre, bent down, and removed Sekat’s data drive from a pocket of her armor. By some miracle, it remained intact despite all the damage Vasir had taken.

“You’re dead,” she hissed through her agony. “The Shadow Broker has been in power for decades. He’s stronger than anything you’ve ever faced!”

Shepard stood over her, shaking his head wearily. “Is that why you sold out the Council to work for him?”

Vasir’s face twisted in impotent rage. “You think I betrayed the Council? Like Saren? _Go to hell!_ The Broker’s given me damn good intel over the years. Intel that _saved lives_ and kept the Citadel safe. So if the Broker needs a few people to disappear, I’ll pay that price without hesitation!”

Shepard squatted down to look into her eyes. “Vasir. That’s _not your price to pay._ _”_

“Says the man who ditched the Council, played dead for two years, and came back working for _terrorists_. Do you have _any idea_ what Cerberus has done?”

“I know who they are and what they’ve done. It doesn’t matter. They’re the only ones fighting the Reapers right now, so I work with them.”

“That’s right.” Vasir coughed wetly, bringing up a spray of blood. “Just like I worked with the Shadow Broker. At least _he_ never abducted kids for biotic death camps. He never killed Alliance politicians and admirals who asked questions. Don’t you dare judge me! Don’t you . . .”

The light went out of her eyes. She slumped to the side.

“No,” said Shepard, though no one remained there to hear him. “All _he_ did was to make an alliance with the Reapers themselves.”

He rose and turned to the rest of us. “Liara, what did Sekat have?”

I opened my omni-tool, ignoring the Broker’s virus that still clogged my communications, and used it to scan Sekat’s data. “Here it is . . . oh, no.”

“What?”

“It’s in the Hourglass Nebula cluster. I _know_ where the Broker has an installation there already, on Alingon.” I looked up at Shepard. “That’s where I finally recovered your remains from the Broker’s men.”

His eyes widened. _“You_ recovered my body?”

“Yes. But it’s not his headquarters, only a secondary facility. A relay station.”

“All this for _nothing?_ _”_ hissed Jack.

Shepard held up a hand for calm. “Are you sure?”

I checked again. Then I saw it, and my eyes widened with surmise. “No, wait. It’s _not_ Alingon.”

The data became clear.

_Hagalaz._


	44. Intermezzo

**_29 July 2185, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

Shepard and I met my friends in the _Normandy_ airlock.

Aspasia threw herself at me the moment the outer door opened, folding me up in a fierce hug. “Liara, I’ve been so _worried_.”

I hugged her back, reached out a hand to pull Vara in as well. “Worst day at the office _ever_.”

Vara snorted.

“Thank you for taking care of Liara,” Aspasia told Shepard.

He only nodded in silence.

“I don’t have much time,” I told them. “Shepard has agreed to lend _Normandy_ to a raid on the Shadow Broker’s headquarters. We have to leave at once, while the Broker is still unsure what has happened.”

Aspasia nodded. “What are your instructions?”

“Did you bring those data files I asked for?”

Vara produced two data sticks. “All here, right out of your personal secure partition. We didn’t look at any of it. The blue stick carries Folders One through Four, while the white stick has Folders Thirty and Thirty-One.”

“Thank you.” I took the sticks and tucked them into my jacket. “I’m not sure how long we will be gone. It will be at least three or four days. While I’m away, the two of you are to manage the firm. I want you to give Illium the impression that you fear I may be dead.”

Aspasia’s eyes widened. Vara only nodded. “Keep the Shadow Broker confused.”

“Correct. He will soon know that Vasir is dead and Sekat’s data is still loose . . . but none of the Broker’s men survived to report that I escaped the bombing at the Dracon Trade Center, or that I was involved in the final battle against Vasir. If we can keep him in the dark, even for a day or two, then that gives us a much better chance to take him by surprise.”

“What are your objectives?” Vara asked calmly.

“Poorly defined at the moment,” I admitted. “I intend to _hurt_ the Shadow Broker as much as possible. At the very least, I hope we can find and rescue Feron. More than that . . . we will see what the situation is when we get there.”

“I don’t like this, _despoina_. You have so little information to work with. A spot on a map, nothing more.”

“I know. But this is the best chance we’re ever likely to have. I can’t pass it up.”

Vara glanced behind me, to where Shepard was silently standing. “I understand. Just . . . please come back to us, Liara.” _Come back to me_ , I knew she was thinking.

I set a hand on her shoulder, and then threw caution to the winds and embraced her. “I promise.”

Shepard watched me closely as I turned away from the closing airlock door.

I caught his gaze and nodded, understanding what he was too polite to ask. “Aspasia and Vara are my best asari friends, Shepard, and I rely on them to help run my firm. Vara . . . wishes for more than that.”

“How do you feel about that?” he asked quietly, leaning back against the opposite wall of the bridge corridor.

I gave him a sharp glance. “Much the way you feel about Miranda, I imagine.”

“Hmm. Flattered, somewhat intrigued, and extremely conflicted?”

I had to smile and shake my head in rueful agreement. “ _Precisely_.”

He stepped close and put a hand on my shoulder, but didn’t try to press further. “We never did get that dinner date.”

“No.” I looked up into his face. “We still need to have a long talk, but maybe it should wait until we both get some rest.”

Shepard nodded. “I will admit to being worn out. I spent most of the day in combat . . . and I never truly realized how physically demanding biotic abilities are until I acquired them myself.”

“I still can barely believe what Cerberus did there.”

“You can imagine how _I_ feel about it.” He made an exhausted smile. “It does come in handy. I had to evolve a new combat style anyway, after Cerberus finished with me. A lot of my old skills . . . don’t quite work the way I remember.”

“I can imagine.” I lifted one hand, as if to touch him, and then dropped it again with a shake of my head. “Goddess, Shepard, I’m so tired I can barely string two thoughts together. I had better go see if I can find a spare cot.”

“Liara.” He spoke gently and gave me a sober stare. “You could come up to my cabin.”

I looked down at the floor for a moment. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. At least for right now.”

He tried not to show it, but I could tell he took that as a rejection. “I see.”

“No, I don’t think you do.” I sighed, hunched my shoulders, and folded my arms under my breasts as if hugging myself. “Shepard, I know it doesn’t feel to you as if it’s been that long since we were together. Not even three weeks, if I count correctly. For me it’s been more than _two years_. You were _dead._ ”

“I came back!” he snapped, rather loudly.

From our position in the command corridor I could see heads turn, some of the Cerberus personnel at their control consoles looking to see what had upset their commander. The pilot’s chair also swiveled a little, so the helmsman could see what was happening . . .

_Goddess, it’s Joker. The **last** audience I could wish for this conversation._

“I know. I’m sorry.” I looked up into his eyes and saw the hurt there. It made me want to slink off in shame to a dark corner somewhere. “You’ve hardly changed. A few new scars, a new suit of armor, new biotic capabilities, yes, but none of that is _important_. You’re still the same man I remember. Strong. Clever. Compassionate. A paragon. I still love you . . . more than I can say.”

“Then why?” he demanded, although this time he kept his voice down.

“Because _I_ have changed.” I turned away, unable to bear looking into his face any longer. I could hear the remote _boom_ and _crash_ of the ship dropping its moorings and preparing for flight. “Shepard, I’m not the gentle little asari scientist you once knew. I’ve done such terrible things since you died. I don’t know if I’m the right partner for you anymore.”

“I have no doubts on that score.”

“That’s only because you don’t know who I’ve become.” I mustered a surge of determination and turned back to him, reaching back into my jacket and producing the blue data stick. “This is for you. Get some rest. Read it in the morning, while we’re on our way to Hagalaz. _All of it_. Then . . . once you know the truth . . . maybe we can talk.”

Reluctantly he took the data. “It won’t matter to me.”

“You can’t know that for certain.” I eased back from him, body language making it clear that his touch would be unwelcome for the moment. “Where can I stay for now?”

“There’s a small cabin off the Port Observation compartment on the crew deck,” he said coldly. “It should be comfortable enough, if you’re not going to be with us for long.”

I turned and left him. Under my feet I could feel the ship rising, turning, and preparing to soar into Illium’s sky. It suited my mood. I felt adrift.

* * *

**_30 July 2185, Interstellar Space_ **

_“Dr. T’Soni.”_

The voice was feminine and _extremely_ attractive. It reminded me of a famous asari actress who visited my family’s home once, when I was forty years old and just starting to become aware of my sexuality. Just listening to her speak had caused me to suffer a terrible infatuation for days afterward.

_“Dr. T’Soni.”_

“I’m awake.” I turned over on the single bed, pushed the covers aside and swung to my feet. “You must be EDI.”

_“Yes. I apologize for disturbing you, but you have a visitor and she is almost at the point of overriding the lock on your door.”_

“Oh _Goddess.”_ I could only think of one possible female visitor who would have the authority to do that. “Ask Operative Lawson to give me five minutes to make myself presentable.”

_“Certainly, Doctor.”_

I hurried. In only three minutes I had splashed water on my face, applied a stiff brush to my crest, and dressed in the only set of clothes I had with me, my white-and-blue mission outfit. Then I opened the door.

Miranda Lawson stormed into the tiny cabin. “Liara T’Soni, what the _hell_ are you thinking?”

I leaned back against a wall, folded my arms, cocked my head, and refused to be intimidated. It wasn’t easy. Miranda in a towering rage presented a rather impressive figure. “That’s a difficult question to answer unless you can give me a referent.”

“I’ll give you a bloody _referent_. _Shepard!_ What did you _say_ to him?”

“I’m not certain that’s any of your business, Miranda.”

“I am the executive officer of this mission. The effectiveness of everyone on board _Normandy_ is my business. At the moment our commanding officer is likely to be as effective as a box of broken glass.”

I frowned.

Miranda must have seen something in my eyes. She softened her tone. “You can probably guess that I monitor his health, by way of EDI. So much of what we did to revive him was experimental . . . we can’t be sure that something won’t go wrong, even at this late stage. So I know what his vital signs are doing at all time. I know when he eats, I know when he sleeps, I know when he bloody well _uses the loo_. I can tell you that when we all returned to the ship last night, he was utterly exhausted. He had been awake for seventeen hours straight, and we had been in combat no fewer than five times in the course of the day, including against that asari lunatic. He _should_ have taken a shower and collapsed for at least ten hours of rack time. Instead he’s not been to sleep _yet.”_

I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Oh _Shepard.”_

“So I ask again, Liara. What did you say to him?”

“He wanted me to join him in his cabin. I think he wants to pick up exactly where we left off, two years ago. I refused.”

“Hmm. Was there more to it than that?”

“Perhaps. I gave him some data to read when he had time: entries from my personal mission log, beginning with our venture to recover his remains. He needs to know . . . everything.”

_“Damn._ Of course he couldn’t just set _that_ aside while he got some sleep. He would have to read it all at once.”

“I suppose so. It seems strange. I remember him as being able to compartment his personal feelings more effectively.”

Miranda frowned and stared at me, obviously considering what it was safe to reveal. “I think he may have changed more than you expect.”

“What do you mean?”

She took two steps and sat at the cabin’s desk, a move to defuse tension. I followed suit by sitting on the bed lotus-fashion.

“Let me be very clear about one thing, Liara. Cerberus did _not_ deliberately alter his memories or his personality in any way. The Illusive Man was adamant on that point. We were directed to bring Shepard back _exactly_ as he was before Alchera.”

“Aside from massive tissue engineering, cybernetics, biotic implants, and other such trivia.”

She made a brushing-aside gesture. “It was his _mind_ the Illusive Man was after. _That_ had to be the same as before, down to the last daydream or idle preference. Anything less would be considered failure. Any new capabilities we gave Shepard’s body . . . those were to be under his command. Not mine, not the Illusive Man’s. Shepard’s alone.”

“So how has he changed?”

“He is _profoundly_ alienated.”

“I suppose if I awoke to find that I had died, only to be revived two years later by people I considered my mortal enemies, I would be alienated too.”

“There’s more to it than that. He’s had no significant contact with anyone but Cerberus since his awakening.”

I scoffed. “Exactly as the Illusive Man planned from the beginning, I should think.”

“Not entirely. I won’t deny that Cerberus has surrounded him with sympathetic faces. The Illusive Man wants Shepard to reconsider his relationship with us. Possibly even join us, as unlikely as that may seem. But we knew we couldn’t isolate him entirely from his old life, even if we wished.”

“You kept him from contacting _me.”_

“Because we determined that the Shadow Broker had compromised you. If not for that . . . Cerberus has worked with you before. You’re a known quantity. We had no _other_ reason to keep you apart.”

“I’ll stipulate that. Certainly you came to Illium quickly enough once I convinced the Illusive Man I could be trusted once more.”

“Yes. It goes deeper than that. Councilor Anderson, Admiral Hackett, even Urdnot Wrex, they’ve all tried to contact him. EDI has no instructions to censor those messages. He’s read them. He simply . . . refuses to return their calls. Then there’s what happened on Horizon.”

“I’ve heard very little about Horizon, except that the Alliance posted a military liaison there. I thought it might be Ashley Williams.”

“It was.” Miranda gave me a chilly blue stare. “The three of you fought the final battle against Saren, as I understand it.”

“That’s right.”

“His closest friends and allies,” she said sarcastically. “The two women he trusted and relied upon, more than anyone else in the galaxy. Do you know what happened when Shepard met Williams on Horizon, after the Collectors had been driven off?”

I shook my head.

“She _denounced_ him. Called him a traitor for working with Cerberus. All but accused Cerberus of being responsible for destroying the Terminus colonies.”

“Oh _Goddess.”_ I covered part of my face with my hands.

Of course. Ash was so _proud_ of her family’s tradition of service to the Alliance. For all her mistrust of non-humans in general, she had always been willing to treat non-human individuals fairly. She had always expressed contempt for Cerberus, considering them extremists and traitors. To find Shepard alive and _working_ with Cerberus . . .

“After all Cerberus did to save those colonists, after all that _Shepard_ did, she had the _gall_ to turn her back on him and walk away.” Miranda’s rage rode very close to the surface now, and icy cold. “You can imagine how Shepard reacted. He was _patient_ with her. Cool and professional. But I could tell he was bleeding inside. He has been ever since.”

“So when he came to Illium . . .”

“Yes. He hoped he could renew a connection with _the great love of his life,”_ she said bitterly. “Now you’ve turned your back on him too.”

“That’s not fair!” My fists clenched, and to my shock a blue-white corona formed around them. I deliberately relaxed, drew down my biotics before I could do something horrible. “I would _never_ turn my back on him. It’s just . . . he needs to know the truth before he can make a sound decision. I can’t let his memories of me lead him astray.”

She stared at me, caught between understanding and resentment.

“Besides,” I told her, “someone else might make a better partner for him than I could.”

She snorted and looked away. “I don’t think that’s ever going to happen.”

“Miranda, remember who you’re talking to. Asari have an eye for such things. I know he trusts and respects you, despite your association with Cerberus. You _rebuilt_ him, you know him more intimately than any other human ever has. He can’t help but respond to that.” I paused. “I know that you love him.”

“Yes.” She shook her head violently, her features rigid with frustration, as she finally admitted it out loud. “At first I thought it was just hormones. Face danger with a good man at your side, and when it’s over the urge to root strikes. This is different. I can’t get the man out of my head, night or day.”

“He does that,” I murmured.

“But it’s just not going to happen,” she said flatly. “He knows. After we fought our way through half of Eclipse yesterday, making sure they couldn’t hurt my sister . . . I finally came out and said something. I gave him a hint so broad a blind man would have seen it.”

“What happened?”

“He was very polite and respectful and _he_ _turned me down.”_ Once more, the ice-blue eyes glared at me. “He made it clear that there was already a woman in his life, and he wasn’t interested in me in that manner.”

“I see.”

“So . . .”

“Yes. I’ll talk to him. If he’s read the data I gave him . . . we’ll see how he feels about things now. I can make you one promise.”

She looked at me expectantly.

“No matter what happens, I will _always_ be his friend and ally. To the bitter end.”

Slowly, she nodded. “Good. That’s all I can ask.”

Before she could turn to leave, I held up a hand to stop her. “There’s something else we should discuss. Can you ensure that no one is listening to us?”

She cocked an eyebrow. “EDI is _always_ listening to us, on behalf of the Illusive Man.”

“What I have to say must be kept strictly confidential.”

She thought about that for a moment, and then glanced upward. “EDI, disable active monitoring this compartment, authorization three-nine-seven-five-nine, my voiceprint to authenticate.”

_“Acknowledged, Operative Lawson.”_

“Thank you.” I leaned forward, holding her gaze, cobalt-blue against ice-blue. “Shepard is not the only person for whom I brought data when I came on board.”

“You have data for Cerberus?”

“No. For _you.”_

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Trying to manipulate me again? Turn me against Cerberus this time? It won’t work.”

“That depends on how one defines _manipulation.”_ I reached into my jacket and produced the other data stick, the white one. “I believe there is an old human saying: _you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.”_

“Gospel of John, chapter eight, verse thirty-two.”

“You would know better than I.” I held out the stick for her. “There is truth here. Take it and make yourself free.”

She didn’t move. “What’s on that?”

“Two sets of files. One is a biography and full psychological profile on a human named Jack Harper. He was a mercenary commando during the First Contact War, involved in actions on Shanxi, Illium, and Palaven. Since then he has become a business tycoon and spymaster. You know him better as _the Illusive Man.”_

Her eyes widened.

“The other is a full accounting of the relationship between your father, Henry Lawson, and Cerberus. A relationship which continues to the present day.”

“That’s a lie!” she shouted, leaping to her feet. “My father withdrew his support for Cerberus after I left him, after I freed Oriana and the Illusive Man accepted us under his protection.”

“That turns out not to be the case,” I said, still holding out the data stick. “Your father was much too valuable to Cerberus to be permitted to simply walk away. Cerberus needed his resources, the cutting-edge research performed by his firm. So the Illusive Man used you and your sister as leverage, offered to protect you and keep you under close watch, so that your father’s plans for a dynasty could one day continue. The information was compartmentalized, hidden away so that you would never suspect the truth. Of course, had you ever shown any sign of disloyalty to Cerberus, the leverage could be applied just as easily in the other direction.”

“No. I don’t believe it.”

“You don’t _want_ to believe it,” I said harshly. “The universe does not care what we _want_. How do you think it happened that your father’s agents finally located Oriana on Illium, _precisely_ when you were in the field working with Shepard?”

She shook her head, but I could tell she was denying out of reflex now.

“You and I are both part of a scheme to control Shepard. But you know as well as I do that the Illusive Man never has only one plan in motion at a time. You and your sister are also part of a scheme to control your father. Your father serves as part of a scheme to control _you_. A web of manipulation, forces deployed in exquisite balance, with the Illusive Man always in control.” I stared into her eyes, pitched my voice to make an appeal. “Break free of it, Miranda. Make your own choices. Fight for what matters to _you.”_

“And if I choose to remain loyal to Cerberus?” she demanded.

“Then let that be _your_ choice, made freely and with open eyes.”

For a moment I thought she would storm out of the cabin. Then she stopped, clearly forcing herself to think things through with cold, clear logic.

She took the data stick.

* * *

I found Shepard in the armory. He and a dark-skinned male human – Jacob Taylor – worked over his mysterious black armor, performing maintenance and tinkering with its internal programming. Taylor glanced up with deep brown eyes as I approached, giving me a curt but respectful nod.

“Liara.” Shepard seemed calm and polite enough, but I could hear the fatigue in his voice. His eyes were red-rimmed, his complexion pale, and he moved very carefully.

Taylor glanced at Shepard, then back at me. “Doctor, I’ve been performing upgrades on some of the squad’s firearms. We’ve been acquiring a lot of very useful technology. Would you like me to take a look at your weapons?”

I cocked my head at him, realizing what he was offering. “That would be useful, Operative Taylor. I haven’t upgraded my personal sidearm in a very long time. Do you have anything for the M-4 Shuriken?”

“Hmm. Nice light-weight weapon, good for a biotic adept like you. Not very accurate unless you’re braced, but normally you would be. Effective at tearing down shields, but it doesn’t have much stopping power. I can damp out some of the recoil and boost your muzzle velocity a bit. Might help you put more hurt on the target in between biotic feats.”

I drew my sidearm, checked the safety, and handed it to him butt-first. “Thank you.”

“No problem, Doctor.” He withdrew to the weapons bench at the other end of the rather long compartment, leaving me alone with Shepard.

He had gone back to tinkering with his armor, apparently ignoring me, but I knew I had at least some of his attention. In his previous life we had often spent time in the armory or my lab, one of us working, the other simply providing good company. I found a high stool and perched on it.

“I’m curious about your armor,” I said at last.

“Like it?” He closed the access panel where he had been working and ran a hand over the chest-plate.

“It’s certainly _different_. Who built it?”

“A state-owned arms manufacturer in the Batarian Hegemony, believe it or not. I understand the suit is considered contraband in Citadel space. It has extra-hard kinetic barriers. There’s a whole network of servos providing a force-feedback strength boost, so I can carry a larger weapon and hit harder in close-quarters combat. It’s a good match for the _vanguard_ combat style I’ve been developing.”

“I’m surprised to see you wearing _batarian_ armor.”

He glanced up at me, shrugged, looked back at his work. “I don’t have to love batarians to make good use of their technology.”

“The symbolism makes sense too.”

That got his attention. He cocked an eyebrow at me.

“No sign of any allegiance,” I pointed out. “Not Alliance, not the Spectre Corps, not Cerberus, nothing. Just that glossy black finish.”

“I don’t _have_ any allegiance anymore.” He chuckled grimly. “Miranda tried to put me in a suit of Cerberus assault armor as soon as I boarded the new _Normandy_. I told her in no uncertain terms where to stick it.”

“She should have known better.”

“Actually, I think she did. I put her in a difficult position.” He moved up to the helmet and began doing fine work with a different set of tools. “After Freedom’s Progress I wanted to stop wearing the Alliance-issue armor they had secured for me. The Cerberus armor was the only other option she had on hand. So I just scuffed the Alliance markings off the N7 suit, and kept it until we hit Omega for the first time. I bought this suit in the _souq_ there.”

I fell silent for a moment, watching him work, then: “Do you feel so cut off from your previous commitments?”

“In a way. I _died_ , Liara. There are dead-hero monuments for me on Mindoir and Earth. Hell, the Mindoir colony put my face on their _coins_. Now . . . I can’t go back and say _here I am, back from the dead, and oh by the way I’m working with an infamous terrorist organization_ , and expect to be welcomed with open arms. I’d be lucky if the Council or the Alliance didn’t clap me in irons.”

“I’m sure Councilor Anderson or Admiral Hackett would welcome you. I spoke to Anderson only a few days ago. He asked me to talk to you if I had the chance. I think his exact words were: _tell him to come in from the cold.”_

His face softened slightly at the mention of Anderson. “Maybe. But then there’s the other fact.”

I waited.

“I saw the records. Neither the Council nor the Alliance made much effort to search for me. My body was barely cold before they both started sweeping everything we’d discovered under the rug. The Council blamed everything on Saren and Benezia, incidentally smearing _your_ reputation in the process, and they haven’t done a damned thing since to prepare for the Reapers. The Alliance the same, with the added insult that they broke up my crew and forced some of them out of service entirely. Maybe Anderson and Hackett have fought the good fight, but they’re outnumbered and outgunned and it hasn’t made much difference.

“Loyalty doesn’t travel in only one direction, Liara. Not even in a military institution do we owe our superiors unquestioning obedience that they have the right to use any way they damn well please. I have to ask myself whether I still owe anything to the Council or the Alliance. I’ve already given my life for them once, and they’ve squandered anything that sacrifice might have won.” He laid a hand on his armor once more. “Maybe this is who I am now. _Rōnin.”_

I frowned. “I’m sorry, my translator just dropped out.”

“Hmm. It’s a term from the Japanese language. Long ago, a warrior aristocracy ruled the country of Japan, the _bushi_ or _samurai_. Members of the _samurai_ class had a reputation for fierce discipline, courage in battle, and absolute loyalty to their feudal superiors. Some of their philosophy, the _bushidō_ , has found its way into present-day human military culture.”

“Interesting. Some pre-industrial asari cultures had similar institutions. I believe some of those traditions are still preserved among my people as well.”

Shepard nodded, putting one tool down and picking up another. “Samara has already mentioned something about that. Maybe I should sit down and have a long talk with her when I have the time. Anyway . . . a _samurai_ always faced the possibility of what would happen if his feudal superior, the master to whom he had sworn fealty, was killed or deposed from his position. A _samurai_ without a master was expected to commit suicide, but many chose not to and became _rōnin_. The term means something like _wave-man_. The idea is that the _rōnin_ has been cut adrift, he no longer has any fixed place in society other than what he can earn for himself.”

“A mercenary, then?”

“A lot of _rōnin_ became mercenaries. Not all of them. Some of them found a cause to fight for, even if they had no master to command them.”

I saw it then. “So even if you no longer think of yourself as part of the Alliance, or as a Spectre . . . you still have a cause to fight for?”

He stood up, his hands falling to his sides as he gave me a determined stare. “Yes. _Stop the Collectors. Stop the Reapers. No matter what it takes.”_

I nodded soberly. “I agree.”

“I am curious about one thing,” he said, turning back to his work. “Those files you gave me. The first entries told how you worked to recover my remains. You didn’t even _consider_ taking them to the Council or the Alliance. That’s not at all what I would have expected. Why did you do it?”

I sighed and stared at the floor, not wanting to meet his gaze. “Miranda said there was a chance Cerberus could revive you. She didn’t make grand promises, she only offered a slim chance, but it was more hope than I could see anywhere else. This was before I saw what the Council or the Alliance would do with your legacy, but even then I knew they wouldn’t try to bring you back. I told myself I was doing it for you, for a chance to carry on the fight against the Reapers, but in the end that was a lie. I did it because I was selfish. I couldn’t face the prospect of life without you.”

He said nothing.

“I knew Cerberus would _use_ you for their own purposes . . . and I let it happen. Because I couldn’t let you go. I’m so sorry.”

I heard footsteps on the deck plating.

“Liara.”

He had crossed to stand in front of me. A gentle hand rested on my shoulder, another moved under my chin to tip my face up. I looked into his eyes and saw no anger or condemnation at all.

“I won’t deny it’s been a shock, waking up and finding myself working with _Cerberus_. But we had a conversation about this while we fought Saren. Do you remember?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“I find myself in the exact situation we discussed. No one is taking the Reaper threat seriously right now, except Cerberus. No one is willing to fight the Collectors without reservation, except Cerberus. So I work with them.” He smiled grimly. “That doesn’t mean I’m _one of_ them. As far as I can tell they brought me back exactly as I was before, the same personality, the same motivations, and the same _morals_. That may have been a very bad mistake on their part. It means I won’t do just anything the Illusive Man says, not unless he gives me damn good reasons. It means I will do everything in my power to stop them if they try to commit atrocities again. It means that before I’m done, as much of Cerberus as I can reach will be working for _me_. Back on the right side of things again.”

I glanced away from his face, over to where Taylor was standing. The Cerberus operative’s back was rather pointedly turned to us, but he was not quite out of earshot.

“. . . and I don’t give a _damn_ who hears me say it.”

“Good,” I breathed.

“None of that would be possible now if you hadn’t rescued me. If you hadn’t turned me over to the one group that could bring me back. _You did the right thing.”_

“Thank you. I . . . I was afraid you would hate me.”

“I could never hate you, Liara.”

“What about the rest of it?”

“The rest of your files? Yes, I read them.”

I held his gaze, using my best wide-eyed blue stare, and waited.

He sighed and stepped back, folding his arms. “Do you want my honest opinion?”

“Always.”

“I think you’ve done the best you could with the resources you had available.”

I waited, but he refused to elaborate. “That’s all?”

“That’s the executive summary. You’ve made mistakes in your command decisions. I’m a little worried about how ruthless you’ve become in pursuit of your objectives. But if you’re expecting me to recoil from you in moral horror? Sorry, Liara, can’t help you there.”

“Goddess, Shepard.” I put a hand to my mouth, trying to master a surge of revulsion. “How can you say that? I’ve lied, cheated, stolen, killed, put civilian lives at risk, gotten my own people killed . . .”

“So have I,” he said coldly. “In any war, you will commit acts that would be considered horrible crimes in peacetime. That’s why war is such a terrible thing. That’s why civilized people will always do their best to avoid it. That’s why the only time war can _ever_ be justified is when it is fought to prevent a far worse moral evil. But if you commit yourself to a war, you _will_ make mistakes, including the moral kind as well as the tactical and strategic. You and others _will_ suffer for the mistakes you make. It’s inevitable. There’s nothing you can do about it . . . except face the consequences of your mistakes without flinching. Learn from them. Commit yourself to doing better next time.”

Now, finally, I heard at least the possibility of condemnation in his voice. Yet instead of frightening me, it gave me a moment of clarity. He had left unspoken another alternative.

I could always turn away and let someone else take up the fight against the Reapers.

I could keep my life, my friends, my very comfortable place in asari society, my good moral opinion of myself. But the only way to do that was to demand that _someone else_ carry the burden I had refused. Someone like Shepard, who had already given up all those things.

In that moment, I looked inside myself and realized that I had, in fact, no alternative. Knowing that the Reapers existed, knowing what they intended, I could do nothing but resist them. Fight them with everything I had. To do less would be a worse betrayal than anything else I had done.

“I understand,” I told him.

He must have seen something in my face, in my eyes. He nodded solemnly. “Good.”

I extended my hand. “Comrades-in-arms, then?”

He shook my hand firmly, the touch lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. “Always.”

“Good. Then as one comrade-in-arms to another . . . _go to bed.”_

Taylor turned and _grinned_ at us, proving that he _had_ been listening all along.

Shepard breathed a deep sigh. “Aye-aye, ma’am. EDI?”

_“Yes, Commander Shepard.”_

“I am turning in for some rack time. Call me at 1400, and inform Miranda that she has the conn until an hour after that.”

_“Acknowledged.”_

“I’ll come too,” I said quietly. “Not to resume our liaison, Shepard. You need to _sleep.”_

“Liara . . . I will take what I can get.”

So I came to his cabin for the first time. Once he stripped down and washed up in the refresher, I tucked him into the bed. Then I lay down, fully clothed, and snuggled up close behind him with one arm curled around his torso. I held him that way until his breathing became slow and even, and then for perhaps an hour longer. Only then did I ease away, rolling out of the bed as carefully as I could.

I stood over him and watched his face. He appeared at peace, at least for the moment. I bent close to kiss his forehead, ever so gently so as not to wake him.

Then I left, going to make my own preparations for Hagalaz.


	45. Accelerando

**_31 July 2185, Sowilo System Space_ **

_Normandy_ dropped into normal geometry in the outer reaches of the Sowilo system.

We lacked any real intelligence about the Shadow Broker’s location. We could _guess_ that his headquarters was located on the single marginally habitable world in the system – Hagalaz – but we couldn’t be certain. For all we knew, the Broker lurked somewhere else, but had posted sensor probes around Hagalaz in order to watch for intruders. Shepard advised caution, and I had to agree. So we lurked about two light-hours out from the system’s G8V primary, well above the local ecliptic plane, so our passive sensors could drink in data from as much of the system as possible.

The primary star roared endlessly across the spectrum. We found one gas giant planet with a very active magnetic field, pouring out microwave and radio noise. Of deliberate, organized transmission we heard almost nothing, only a beacon marking an automated helium-3 refinery station at the gas giant.

Our analysis team consisted of Shepard, Miranda, Garrus, Mordin and me. We spent hours in the Combat Information Center, parsing through sensor data, looking for evidence that _anyone_ lived in the system. Finally Shepard came back from consulting with Joker on the bridge, his face sober.

“Liara, this is not looking good.” He stood next to me, watching the holographic windows I had open. “How certain are you about Sekat’s work?”

“The Shadow Broker was quite certain of it,” I pointed out. “Certain enough to have him killed.”

“True. But this looks like a wilderness system.”

I smiled at him. “You need to think more like an information broker. Look for the patterns buried in the data.”

He cocked an eyebrow at me but said nothing.

“Here.” I called up a series of historical records, laid out as a timeline. “This system wasn’t always unoccupied. A salarian expedition surveyed the place about two centuries ago, and built mining outposts on three planets. They never made very much profit. Sowilo is located so far off the main trade routes, so far from the main mass relay for this cluster, and none of the planets here make very pleasant places to live. The support costs always rendered operations here marginal at best. So the settlements on Kenaz and Hagalaz were abandoned, in 2076 and 2080 by your calendar.”

“What about the third outpost?” Shepard asked.

“That’s the interesting case.” I touched the relevant icon, expanding it to reveal a cascade of data. “The star system is old and most of its worlds are metal-poor, but Ansuz has large deposits of palladium and other platinum-group metals. A whole consortium of mining interests developed the place . . . but then they suffered a wave of industrial accidents and incidents of sabotage. The consortium collapsed in mutual recrimination. By the time litigation worked its way through the courts, all parties had abandoned Ansuz permanently.”

His eyes narrowed as he scanned my data. “You think _someone else_ wanted the miners off Ansuz?”

“It’s circumstantial, but yes. Look at the dates. The last miners left Ansuz in 2093, a little over ninety years ago. The first appearance of the Shadow Broker in Citadel records is in 2097, only four years later.”

“He cleared the decks, so he could have a nice abandoned star system to fort up in.”

“It’s as good a hypothesis as any. Once the system stood empty, of course, the Broker could use his influence to discourage anyone from returning.”

He stood, head down and arms folded, for several minutes. Then he nodded to himself. “I have an idea.”

“What is it?”

“Now that I’ve had some practice thinking like an information broker, T’Soni, _you_ need to think more like a military commander.” He raised his voice. “Joker, I want an FTL microjump over to the gas giant, and then a fast ballistic pass by the helium-3 station there, all stealth systems engaged.”

“ _Aye-aye, Commander_ ,” came Joker’s voice, sounding a little puzzled.

“EDI, when we’re at closest approach, I want a low-power probe to query the station’s records. How much fuel does that station bring up from the gas giant, and how much does it dispense out to passing ships?”

_“Acknowledged, Commander.”_

I saw what he suspected. “If this system is truly abandoned, almost no one will have any reason to come to refuel.”

“On the other hand, if the Shadow Broker hangs out here, then his agents will sometimes show up with dry tanks. So they’ll stop at the gas giant and refuel.”

“Why would a military commander think that way?”

“Hmm. Amateurs study strategy and tactics. Professionals study _logistics.”_

Sure enough, EDI’s query of the old salarian station revealed substantial throughput of helium-3 fuel. Decades after the miners had abandoned the system, _someone_ still came on occasion to visit. It wasn’t proof of the Shadow Broker’s presence, but it convinced Shepard to continue the search.

* * *

**_1 August 2185, Hagalaz Orbit_ **

For the sake of thoroughness, _Normandy_ made slow passes by the planets Ansuz and Kenaz. It seemed plausible that the Shadow Broker had moved into some of the abandoned mining works . . . but both planets turned up cold and empty. Finally _Normandy_ went into a high-inclination orbit around Hagalaz, stealth mode engaged, cameras and passive sensors combing the surface, looking for signs of occupation. Our analysis team gathered once more in the CIC, an enormous holographic globe of the planet projected in place of the galaxy map.

All our data collection turned up very little evidence. We could _–_ just barely _–_ pick out the ruins of the salarian mining outposts on the surface. We found no sign of radio activity, no sign of power generation, and no sign that anyone had actually occupied the outposts in decades. We saw no evidence of any newer construction anywhere. Hagalaz appeared to be another abandoned planet.

“We’re missing something,” I said after several hours of work. I stepped back from my console and stretched the stiffness out of my shoulders and back.

Garrus shook his head. “Hmm. I don’t know, Liara. We’ve combed every square meter of the planet’s land surface by now. Our sensors should be able to spot structures as small as a one-man shelter. Maybe there’s nothing there to miss.”

“Suppose the Shadow Broker built underground?” suggested Shepard.

“No,” said Miranda. “Even if most of his facility is underground, there would have to be _something_ visible on the surface. He would need a landing pad – or maybe a hatch – big enough for a ship to enter or leave. Unless that’s _superbly_ well-camouflaged . . .”

“Underwater?” Garrus mused. “Most of the planet’s surface is ocean, after all.”

“I hope not,” said Shepard. “We could search for weeks and never see something like that. Unless a ship arrives or leaves while we happen to be watching.”

I shook my head. “You can’t stay idle against the Collectors that long. We have to find the Broker quickly, if he’s here, and that means we have to apply logic. Other than at the bottom of an ocean, where could a large facility hide on this planet?”

“Nowhere,” said Garrus flatly.

“Wait,” said Miranda, staring at the holographic globe of Hagalaz, deep in thought. Suddenly she made a decisive nod, stepped up to her console and entered a complex series of commands. The globe became highlighted to indicate the day and night sides of the planet, and it began slowly rotating so we could see how surface features moved into and out of the sunlight. Finally Miranda highlighted two narrow bands, one on either side of the planet. The _terminator_ zones, the transitions between night and day, where the sun stood just above or just below the horizon. “He could hide _here._ ”

Mordin had been unusually silent for some time. Now he nodded. “Yes. Very slow planetary rotation. Unusually massive atmosphere for the planet’s size. Very steep temperature, pressure gradients at sunrise, sunset lines. Permanent thunderstorm zones. Dense cloud banks, torrential rain, high winds, constant lightning.” _Sniff._ “Broker could use _airship_ to hide in storm zone.”

“For over _eighty years?”_ demanded Garrus.

“Very good engineering.”

“It would have to be,” said Shepard.

“It does fit the Broker’s methodology as we’ve seen it elsewhere,” I pointed out. “On Alingon he uses the planet’s intense magnetic field to hide his facility from observation. Here, any intruder would have a hard time picking out an energy signature in the middle of all that lightning.”

“There’s only one way to find out. Let’s do a plane change and put the ship in a polar orbit, closer to the surface and right over the terminator.”

We missed it on the first orbit, and even on the second. On the third, the dense clouds of the sunrise zone opened up for a few minutes just as _Normandy_ passed overhead. Our cameras spotted a vast structure hovering about ten kilometers above the planet’s surface, placed precisely where the permanent thunderstorm would provide the most cover.

“Interesting,” said Mordin, highlighting sections of the schematic diagram we built in the CIC. “Observe, here at the rear, very dark surfaces, almost zero albedo. Enormous solar panel array. Here and here about the hull, long objects, apparently tapered to points. Lightning rods. Ship designed to collect solar, electrical energy from environment. Reduces need for large nuclear reactor. Decreased power generation signature.”

Miranda nodded. “They would still need an eezo core to maintain altitude and attitude, and to damp out turbulence. Even that could be kept in low-power mode most of the time, reducing the ship’s gravitic signature.”

“Quite a hiding place the Broker has,” said Shepard.

“There could be thousands of people aboard something that size,” said Garrus.

“No, that there could not.” I glanced at Shepard with a smile. “Think about the _logistics_ of the situation. How would the Broker _feed_ thousands of people?”

“No sign of agriculture on surface of planet,” said Mordin. “Environment not very conducive anyway. Food shipped in from out of system? No, haven’t seen any ships arrive or leave. Doesn’t fit Broker methodology anyway. Hiding place must be self-contained as possible. Limited physical contact with outside.”

“Food synthesis,” Garrus realized. “Maybe augmented by hydroponics or aeroponics.”

Mordin nodded. “Estimate no more than two hundred on board. Maybe two hundred fifty, if exclusively using food synthesis. Probably not. Bland diet. Bad for morale.”

Shepard shook his head in wonder. “Liara, the Shadow Broker might have fewer people aboard that ship than you have in your offices on Illium.”

I nodded in agreement. “His strength is in his network, out in the galaxy. For that matter, I could get by with fewer employees in my central office if I had better analytic integration, or I felt willing to give up more control over routine activities.”

“So how do you want to play this?”

“Quietly,” I said. “A frontal assault would be a terrible idea. That ship has energy to burn, and I’m sure it has extensive weapons systems. _Normandy_ would almost certainly be outgunned.”

“What are your objectives?”

“At a minimum, locate Feron and get him out. If we can sabotage the Broker’s systems, crippling his ability to assist the Collectors, that would be ideal.”

“Then I recommend a small infiltration team, no more than five.” He thought through his options for a moment. “Miranda, this one is too dangerous for both of us to be at risk. You have _Normandy_ until we get back.”

I could tell Miranda felt unhappy about this, but she nodded in agreement.

“Garrus, you’re with Liara and me,” Shepard continued. “EDI, I want Samara and Thane for this one as well. Have them report to the armory for mission prep.”

I nodded to myself. Shepard had selected a squad with stealth, plenty of combat experience, a great deal of biotic power, and sufficient technical skill to get through any obstacles we might encounter.

Also, none of us were Cerberus. I felt quite certain that was not an accident.

* * *

**_1 August 2185, Shadow Broker Vessel/Hagalaz_ **

The shuttle brought us in from the night side of Hagalaz, hovering for a few moments over a flat spot on the great ship’s hull, just long enough for the five of us to disembark. The jump to the hull felt slower than I expected. Hagalaz was a small and metal-poor planet, with surface gravity less than two-thirds that of Illium. All of us used magnetic boots to maintain sound footing on the hull.

Shepard and Garrus had sealed hardsuits. The rest of us wore heated cold-weather gear over our usual light armor, with helmets and breather masks. The ambient temperature fell far below freezing, and the thin air would not support life for more than a few moments. Inside the ship’s mass-effect field, we could move easily through calm air . . . but only a few meters away, the winds gusted as high as two hundred kilometers per hour. Anyone who lost her footing – or was lifted away from the hull by a biotic attack – would almost immediately be snatched away for the long fall to the surface.

At least we had an absolutely _magnificent_ view. Behind us reared storm-filled night, occasionally lit by gigantic lightning bolts. All around us, the cumulonimbus clouds piled up for kilometers, the sun up ahead painting them in a thousand shades of white and gold. As we moved, several times I had to restrain the urge to stop and get caught up in an aesthetic trance.

We picked our way across the hull, moving with extreme care, looking for an entrance hatch of substantial size that we had spotted during our approach. Shepard and Thane led, comparing the “terrain” to our schematics, planning our route and watching for signs of hostile activity. Samara and I followed, keeping a lookout to the sides. Garrus played rear-guard, his beloved sniper rifle out and ready to respond to any attack.

At first we faced no significant resistance. We occasionally saw maintenance drones or LOKI mechs, operating in twos and threes, but these were easy to deal with. Shepard and Thane usually spotted them well in advance, and we could either avoid or destroy them without raising the alarm.

The worst point came when our only path forward involved a catwalk _suspended over the side of the ship_. We found a guard rail . . . but under our feet lay nothing but a flimsy-looking metal mesh, and through it one could see the long drop.

“Okay, looking down was _clearly_ a mistake,” I muttered to myself.

Samara gave me a serene glance, and for a moment I hated the justicar for her perfect calm.

Then the catwalk moved insidethe ship for a few moments, cutting through an engineering compartment. All of us had to stop for a moment in sheer awe. The engines were immense machines, long arrays of capacitor plates that lifted and fell, absorbing and discharging electrical energy in a never-ending cycle.

“Incredible,” I said at last. “The perfection of the engineering . . . if the engines ever stopped for even a moment, the ship would fall.”

“I wonder how the Broker’s crew _maintains_ the engines,” said Garrus. “Big moving parts, with lots of electrical discharges for added flavor. Not easy to fix if you can’t ever let it stop.”

Shepard looked around. “I think the scale is fooling our eyes. This compartment isn’t big enough to take up the full width of the hull at this point. There must be several engines, so the Broker can take one down for maintenance without losing all power.”

“I wonder what happened to the contractors who built all this?” mused Thane.

“I think we can guess,” I said grimly.

“Interesting that we haven’t seen any live crew, just mechs,” said Garrus. “Liara, your estimates for crew size must have been on the money.”

I nodded in agreement. “Of course, I would be willing to bet most of the live crew has combat training. If we raise the alarm . . .”

“We’ll be ready,” Shepard stated. “Come on. This catwalk seems to head for another access port, back out onto the hull, forty or fifty meters further along.”

We followed Shepard and Thane once more. When we emerged, we seemed visibly closer to the solar arrays at the rear of the ship.

At that point we encountered our first real opposition. I don’t think that first squad of the Broker’s men came out specifically to attack us. They had most likely been deployed for a routine patrol of the hull, but as soon as they spotted us, they moved in for the kill.

“Armed mercenaries, to the left and above,” said Thane calmly. Gunfire followed his announcement. Samara spun around as a burst caught her in center-of-mass, deliberately spreading the kinetic energy around her body shield so that it would not penetrate. My own shields flared for a moment as a stray round skimmed past my left hip.

I suppressed the urge to _dive_ for cover. Let my magnetic boots leave contact with the hull, let my Illium-trained reflexes take hold, and I might find myself flying out of control toward the abyss. Instead I took two very deliberate steps, crouched behind a thick metal pipe, and _then_ looked around for the enemy.

 _I remember your lessons in basic tactics, Shepard. Always take cover first_.

We found a great deal of cover, for all of us and for our enemies, attachments and projections behind which one could hide. Shepard looked frustrated for a moment, unable to find a target for his shotgun, unwilling to risk flash-charging across the ship. Then I saw his eyes narrow as he saw _something_ of interest in the direction of the enemy.

He stowed his shotgun on its hardpoint in the small of his back, then drew his sidearm. He popped up, aimed and fired . . . high and to the left of the nearest enemy.

_What are you doing?_

His burst struck a long, tapering projection just behind the enemy squad. A lightning rod.

It erupted with powerful discharges of static electricity, lashing out and striking some of the Broker’s men. They lost control, some of them falling out of cover, others snapped erect by an overload of their armor’s systems.

Three of them fell exposed, positioned too close together. I shouted and hurled a singularity into their midst.

Shepard, Thane, and Samara opened fire on the exposed troopers. Enemies fell, skimming the ship’s hull until they flew past the edge and vanished. Behind me I heard the bark of Garrus’s sniper rifle, and saw one of the Broker’s men thrown back. The resulting gout of blood hung in the air for a long moment, suspended in the low gravity. Then Thane sent a biotic warp to detonate my singularity, and three armored figures flew up and into the sky. One after the other, they soared in graceful arcs past the edge of the mass effect field, hurled into infinity.

It was horrifying and strangely beautiful.

“Lessons learned,” said Shepard flatly as we advanced. “Don’t get caught near one of those lightning rods, and _keep your feet on the hull.”_

Samara shook her head. “That may prove difficult if the Broker has biotic specialists.”

“Yeah. Top priority, people, take out any adepts or vanguards.”

The first squad may not have known we were coming, but the second and third squads certainly did. They had rocket troopers with them, salarian engineers, asari biotic specialists.

We faced difficult fights, dominated by the need to be _very_ sure of our footing at every moment. Shepard’s new tactic – _charge into the enemy’s teeth_ – would have been folly, but he didn’t have the weapons or the practiced reflexes to revert back to his old sniper-rifle style. Instead he concentrated on keeping all of us in cover, popping out for short moments to fire a burst, or to fling a biotic warp or shockwave at the enemy.

As Shepard had ordered, enemy biotics became the focus of our efforts. Once we hit our stride, a slim blue figure could hardly show her head above cover without being pummeled by a barrage of warps. As soon as an enemy’s shields or biotic barriers wore down, one of our biotics pulled her off her feet and into the air. On a planet’s surface that would have been inconvenient and dangerous for the victim. On the hull of the Shadow Broker’s ship, it was usually fatal.

Meanwhile, Garrus quickly taught the Broker’s men not to expose themselves to a sniper’s shot. Once they learned that lesson, he began using his rifle to disrupt the ubiquitous lightning rods. Over and over, he threw the Broker’s men into confusion by causing wild electrical discharges in their ranks.

Shepard took minor gunshot wounds to his left shoulder and right side, Thane suffered burns from an engineer’s incineration charge, and I took a deep cut on my face from shrapnel. We had medi-gel and plenty of determination. We won through.

The hatch we sought stood almost three meters tall, and wide enough for all of us to enter abreast. We found it _securely_ locked. While Shepard and Samara watched for more of the Broker’s troops, Thane and Garrus both tried to hack it without success.

“Let me try,” I said, stepping up to the hatch and activating my omni-tool. “I have an experimental shunt program that Arin gave me back on Illium. It should be able to hack through just about any lock.”

“How long will it take?” asked Shepard.

“I don’t know. I’ve never broken into the Shadow Broker’s base before.” I glanced over my shoulder at him. “Well, not this one anyway.”

The shunt program engaged. A five-lobed holographic display appeared on the hatch doors.

“The Broker will not wait patiently for us to break in,” said Samara.

“Right,” said Shepard. “Take cover and defend the hatchway.”

Just in time. Two squads of the Broker’s men crested the hull and began to rain fire down on our position.

_ZZZZZT._

“They _really_ don’t get that they shouldn’t take up positions close to those lightning rods,” said Garrus.

 _“Your life is mine,”_ said Samara, utterly calm, as she struck an approaching mercenary with a biotic effect I had never seen before. The man fell, curling into a ball, and I could hear his bloodcurdling shrieks even in the thin atmosphere. I stared at her for a moment in wide-eyed shock.

“Heads up, Liara!” shouted Shepard.

I snapped out of it and reached cover just in time to avoid a burst of gunfire.

“What assurance do we have that Dr. T’Soni’s program will work?” asked Thane calmly. He whirled out of cover, firing three times with his sidearm. Three of the Broker’s men went down in rapid succession.

“Liara? You _did_ test it, right?” demanded Shepard.

“It’s illegal even on Illium,” I said breathlessly. “There hasn’t been any chance to test it.”

_“Wonderful.”_

I spared a glance for the hatch. One out of five lobes of the holograph had gone green. “It’s making progress. Keep it up!”

We fought. The Broker’s men hit us from one side, then the other. Shepard took yet another minor wound and slapped the medi-gel tab on his hardsuit. A telekinetic strike knocked Thane loose from the hull, but he kept firing calmly from midair while I reached out with my mind and pulled him back down. At one point the enemy seemed about to break into our position, but Shepard risked a flash-charge across the field and scattered them like potsherds. My heart leapt into my throat, but then I saw him slam both booted feet down on the hull once more.

 _“Heads up!”_ shouted Garrus. “Rocket drones!”

 _Goddess, not again_.

I was _very careful_ to take cover this time.

_CRASH. CRASH. CRASH._

I felt dazed and half-blind, but I had apparently survived the explosion. Again. I popped my head out and fired a long burst at one of the drones, tearing down its shields and destroying it.

“The enemy keeps coming at us in waves,” I observed. “They would be more effective if they hit us all at once.”

 _“Please_ don’t give the mercs ideas,” growled Shepard.

“Well, she’s right,” muttered Garrus.

We barely had time to pivot away from the last of the drones to the next wave of soldiers. Slow on my feet, I found myself exposed to three enemy troopers at once. I had only an instant to curse silently before a hail of gunfire hammered me to the hull.

_“Liara!”_

Then a red-clad figure stood over me, blazing with white light, hurling biotic force against the enemy line.

“I’m here, child.” Samara bent down to examine me, activating the medi-gel tab on my armor. Pain receded. I could sit up, and then rise to a crouch.

“I’m all right.” I took a cautious breath, felt nothing shift around or stab at me internally. “The armor took it. I’ll probably hurt for a week, that’s all.”

“Another wave coming,” said Garrus flatly. “It’s a big one.”

“You just _had_ to give them tactical advice,” said Shepard in mock-anger.

“Look at it this way,” I said as I took cover once more. “There won’t be as many inside.”

The Broker’s men attacked.

“Yeah, keep dreaming, T’Soni.”

This wave _was_ the hardest. All of us had to face it and lay down an intense field of fire. To take cover and rest, even for a moment, would have left open a gap for the enemy to exploit. My barriers went down, then my shields, and then I barely deflected a vicious telekinetic pull that would have flung me into space. Garrus saved me then, sighting in the enemy biotic and dropping her with a perfect headshot.

A chime sounded from my omni-tool. “The hatch is open!”

“Fighting retreat!” Shepard commanded. “Liara, Thane, you first.”

The drell assassin and I broke into a run, dashing through the hatch the moment it stood fully open. Then we took up positions to either side and lay down covering fire. Samara followed us, then Garrus, then Shepard last of all. One of the Broker’s men burst from cover with a rocket launcher just as Shepard crossed into the ship. Just a moment too late. The hatch slammed down and we heard an explosion on the outside.

I tapped commands into my omni-tool. “There. The hatch is locked shut again behind us, and I’ve reset the controls. They’ll be hours trying to get through my codelocks.”

“They’ll probably just post a guard on the hatch to box us in, then come back inside somewhere else and move ahead of us.” Shepard shrugged. “Well, the Shadow Broker certainly knows we’re here, and we’ve been banged up a bit, but we’re still all on our feet and effective. Let’s move on.”

We turned and moved down the corridor. Into the Shadow Broker’s lair.


	46. Danse Macabre

**_1 August 2185, Shadow Broker Vessel/Hagalaz_ **

We took only a few moments to pull off our cold-weather gear and breathing masks. The air inside the Broker’s ship seemed cool and dry, tasting faintly of metal, but it would support us.

I glanced around. We stood at one end of a long corridor, which ran fifty or sixty meters straight to a distant ramp. I saw no branches or side corridors, and no doors in all that distance.

“They are here,” said Thane.

Sure enough, I saw some of the Broker’s soldiers pelting down the ramp, lifting firearms and rocket launchers to point in our direction. We all took cover. Garrus fired once, then twice up the corridor to discourage the enemy, but I couldn’t see that he hit anything.

“How many soldiers does the Shadow Broker _have?”_ I complained.

“I told you so,” muttered Shepard.

“We are trapped,” Samara pointed out. “It would be best not to remain still. That will only give them a chance to bring up overwhelming force.”

“Agreed . . . but don’t think of it as us being locked in here with them.” Shepard smiled grimly. “Think of it as _them_ being locked in here with _us.”_

“Brave words,” said Thane dubiously. “What are your orders?”

“Watch my flanks, take out anyone who seems likely to get behind me, and try to keep up.”

My eyes widened.

Shepard leaned out to take in the situation at the far end of the corridor for a moment, unconcerned at the rising clatter of gunfire and the first rocket launched in our direction. Then he stood tall, leaning forward slightly as if about to start a race. He blurred and vanished. A thunderbolt flashed down the corridor, and then he stood _there_ , in the midst of the Shadow Broker’s men, a whirl of fists, feet, and shotgun fire.

_“Come on!”_ shouted Garrus, pausing only to fire once with his sniper rifle. A trooper who had managed to keep his feet through Shepard’s charge suddenly staggered and fell, dropping his weapon.

We ran, firing and exercising our own biotics along the way. By the time we approached Shepard’s position the immediate fight was over, but we could hear more of the Broker’s men approaching from further along the corridor. So Shepard gave us only a moment’s glance, and then he was off again, a biotic grenade exploding into the enemy’s face.

The whole fight through the Broker’s ship seemed like that. No longer afraid of charging off into an abyss, Shepard could fight without hesitation or restraint. The rest of us often had difficulty keeping up, even at a dead run.

Thane and Samara kept their sidearms out, providing covering fire and picking off Broker troops who survived each of Shepard’s charges. Garrus occasionally stopped for a moment to line up a shot with his sniper rifle. On the other hand, after the first few moments I put my sidearm _away_. My marksmanship was passable, but Shepard was constantly in motion and I was terrified of hitting him. In any case I could be far more effective with my biotics. I used singularities to block side passages, warps to tear down shields and barriers, even my new _stasis_ technique to lock down enemies who might otherwise have flanked Shepard.

It took us more than an hour to slowly pick our way across the ship’s hull. It took us less than five minutes to smash through the Broker’s defenses and get into the control centers of the vast ship.

By that time, we had completely shattered the Broker’s soldiers. We could hear the survivors trying to coordinate a response, but we had knocked out too many of their officers and gotten too far behind their defense lines. It gave us a breathing space. I found an office untended, hacked into a computer terminal, and downloaded an extended schematic of the ship.

“We’re getting close to the prison block . . . and Feron,” I reported.

“He must have been important to you,” said Shepard quietly, as we moved down another corridor.

“Not really. Not at the time.” I shook my head. “I just hired him to help me find and recover your remains. It’s funny, he betrayed me more than once, but in the end he came through. I couldn’t have rescued you without him. I probably couldn’t have gotten away with my own life without him.”

He gave me a sharp glance. “He’s the soldier you had to leave behind.”

“Yes.”

“I understand. That’s one of the toughest calls you’ll ever have to make.”

I remembered Kaidan and nodded.

Another squad of the Broker’s soldiers guarded the prison block. Knowing we were at large, they did their best to set up an ambush, but Thane spotted them before they saw us. We diverted through a side corridor, came in behind the ambush, and took them by surprise. Once we had defeated them, I ran to the nearest computer console and hacked in to check the records.

“He was moved to Room 101 less than an hour ago,” I reported. “Come on.”

Room 101 turned out a large compartment, set up as an odd mix of server room and torture chamber. Immediately behind the main entrance, there stood an observation platform. Below that, behind a thick pane of glass, network racks and electronic equipment loomed in a circle around a reclining chair. In the chair, pinned down by restraints, lay a male drell: naked, his bones terribly prominent, covered with scars, his scales dull and many of them abraded away.

“Feron!” I hurried across the platform to a control panel, my friends following.

The drell rolled his head, opened his eyes wearily. “Liara?”

“Hang on, we’ll have you out of there in a moment,” I promised, beginning to hack the console.

“No . . . _wait . . ._ ”

Something went wrong. The console flared red and made a harsh buzzing sound. Down in the room electricity surged, forcing Feron to convulse painfully. A terrible rasping scream tore through his throat.

Garrus seized my arm. “Stop! Liara, he’s booby-trapped!”

I recoiled from the console in horror.

“He’s right,” said Feron weakly, as soon as he could speak. “They’ve set this apparatus up on the highest level of sensitivity. Tamper with it even a little, and my brain cooks. You might be able to figure it out eventually, but I’ll be dead long before then.”

“Goddess, what has he _done_ to you?”

He licked his lips painfully. “He knew you were coming. Had his men put me in this thing. He knows you’ll have to come to him now.”

“You say _him,”_ said Shepard. “The Shadow Broker? It’s really an individual, a _he?”_

“Yes.” Feron took a deep breath. “I’ve never seen more than a glimpse of him, in the darkness. No one has. But he’s definitely a single entity. Big. Powerful. All his men are afraid of him.”

“A krogan?” wondered Garrus.

“No. _Bigger.”_

Shepard and I exchanged a glance. I could see him weigh whether to risk everything on one roll of the dice . . . but I could also see that having _me_ as part of the stakes made him hesitate. I lifted my chin in determination, gave him a small uncompromising nod.

He saw what I had left unsaid. He nodded in return. “All right. Feron, we’ll have you out of there yet. Even if it means taking the Shadow Broker’s bait.”

Feron let his head roll against the restraints. “Good. I’ll . . . try not to go anywhere while I wait.”

“Arashu keep you in the shadow of her wings,” said Thane unexpectedly. “Do not despair, brother.”

Feron raised his head again, saw the drell standing with us, and blinked slowly. “Thank you.”

“Arashu has _wings?”_ Samara asked quietly as we moved away.

“Sometimes,” said Thane.

“Interesting.”

* * *

From that point on we saw almost no resistance. I suspected the Shadow Broker had directed his men to stay away from us, that he planned to deal with us himself. He had to know our numbers, our identities, and our capabilities. I felt deep unease, thinking about the supreme confidence that would deliberately invite us into his presence.

_Perhaps he wants to negotiate after all_.

I didn’t really believe it.

We ended at what appeared to be a blank wall, deep in the heart of the ship. Shepard stepped up to the dead-end, examining it closely. Suddenly we heard a quiet _beep,_ and a very ordinary door-control panel appeared in the exact center of the wall. It shone red at first to indicate a lock, but almost immediately it _beeped_ again and turned an inviting green.

“Okay, that’s just a _little_ creepy,” said Garrus.

“I have seen no cameras along the walls or ceiling for some time,” said Thane. “How is he observing us?”

“Only one way to find out,” said Shepard, reaching out to tap the hologram once.

We heard a deep booming sound. The apparent wall receded slightly and divided in two, revealing itself as a pair of thick metal partitions, grinding away to either side. Behind them we found a corridor, sloped gently down, almost completely dark. We followed it, soon hearing the _boom_ of the door slamming shut again behind us.

We emerged into a great darkened amphitheater.

I glanced around and saw a large oval, perhaps fifty meters long and thirty wide at the floor. Instead of sheer walls on all sides, I saw three higher levels, each set further back from the floor to provide more working space. Spaced regularly around the oval, I saw access ramps for reaching the higher levels, as well as tunnel entrances that must have led to other compartments behind the walls. Computer equipment lined every level of the chamber, server stacks and consoles and display screens, all of it alive and humming with activity. At the far end of the space loomed a vast vertical array of holographic windows, full of more data than I could easily fathom, also constantly in motion. Behind the array I could see a raised platform like a theatrical stage, apparently supporting even more workstations. Further yet, I thought I could see a corridor leading off to more compartments, perhaps living quarters or laboratory space. The ceiling arched far overhead, with a great crystal lens in the center, glowing with bright actinic light. Behind the lens I could see plasma moving, part of the power system that drove the whole intricate machine. Everything seemed stark and austere, bare metal and bundles of cables, poorly lit by the lens and the dim glow of a thousand holographic windows.

That entire echoing space had a single occupant.

The Shadow Broker sat behind a large desk, not unlike the one in my personal office on Illium, but deeper and arranged in almost a complete half-circle around him. When we appeared he glanced up, closed down a set of holographic windows, folded his hands on the desktop, and watched all of us with an air of patient tolerance. It seemed an incongruously delicate gesture, given his sheer size and alien shape.

Most of the available light came from behind the Shadow Broker, making him difficult to see in detail. I had the impression of enormous bulk, bigger than any krogan. His face was a nightmare of eight sharp eyes, fluttering ears, and an enormous three-sided maw full of viciously sharp teeth.

At first, I could see nothing but a monster . . . but then I realized the shape looked somehow _familiar_. I thought furiously, searching my memory.

The Broker spoke, his voice a rumbling _basso profundo_ , weirdly articulate and cultured coming from such a hulking shape. “Here for the drell? Reckless, even for you, Commander.”

“Sending your army to shoot its way through Nos Astra wasn’t exactly _subtle,”_ Shepard retorted.

“Extreme, but necessary. Dr. T’Soni’s actions required me to defend my interests.”

“Be smart. Let Feron walk out with us. Then we’re going to have a talk about your alliances with the Collectors . . . and with the Reapers.”

The Broker did not move, and his voice remained perfectly calm. “I must refuse. I am not prepared to discuss my mutually profitable relationships with other clients. You are in no position to bargain in any case. At least this incident has brought you back into my control. The Collector offer for you remains open. Some small profit might also be realized from open bounties on the assassin Thane Krios and the vigilante Archangel. The asari are of no value in trade, but their elimination will dispose of a minor threat.”

“You’re quite confident for someone with nowhere left to hide,” I said flatly, training my sidearm on the Broker. The others followed suit, fanning out slightly to ensure clear lines of fire. “You’re not putting a hand on anyone!”

“It’s pointless to challenge me, asari. I knew your every secret, while you fumble in the dark.”

“Is that right?”

When I first opened my mouth to speak, I had _no idea_ what I needed to say . . . but then it felt as if a friendly _daimon_ had whispered in my ear. In an instant, I recognized the Broker, _knew_ where he had come from, and that set off a whole chain of lightning-fast logic. I immediately threw myself headlong into it, not even knowing at first where it would end, only hoping that it would give me some lever to use against him.

“You’re a _yahg,”_ I continued, throwing a specific flavor of contempt into my voice: the civilized sophisticate looking down on the crude barbarian. “A pre-spaceflight species, quarantined to its homeworld for massacring the Council’s first-contact teams. The Shadow Broker’s existence predates your planet’s discovery, so I’m guessing you must have killed the original Broker and taken his place. As for how you got the opportunity? No doubt the original Broker had you taken from your homeworld because he wanted a slave. Or a pet.”

No reaction from the Broker’s vast bulk, except that his fan-shaped ears began to twitch.

_You guessed right, Liara. You’ve got him._

I gave him a vicious little smile. “How am I doing?”

He stood up. And up. And _up_. Fully erect, the Shadow Broker _towered_ over all of us, well over half a metric ton of viciously angry carnivore.

“Oh _fuck,”_ observed Garrus.

The Broker _roared_ , a terribly loud and bestial sound that made my hindbrain want to flee in terror. Then he smashed the desk in front of him, seizing a chunk of the wreckage and hurling it.

Right at me.

Shepard threw himself into action, tackling me around the waist and bringing us both to the floor, the desk-fragment flying over us to smash against a computer pylon behind.

The Broker roared again, terribly close by. Then I heard another sound, a high-pitched _whirr_.

_“Combat drones!”_ shouted Thane, sprinting for cover.

I looked up, and the air seemed full of flying weapons.

The drones were small devices, perhaps half a meter long, but they flew on mass-effect fields and fired short, powerful bursts of laser light. One of them hit Shepard as he struggled to rise, slicing directly through his kinetic barriers and burning a gouge along the chest-plate of his armor.

Samara saved us. It took a few seconds for Shepard and me to roll to our feet and think about finding cover. That should have been enough time for eight of the drones to converge and slice us into bleeding chunks . . . but Samara held her ground, stood over us and calmly refused to give way. One gesture sent a drone tumbling to the side to crash into another. A second gesture threw a third drone soaring up toward the high ceiling, out of control. Two bursts of gunfire took out two more drones. Then Shepard and I reached our feet and ran.

“Samara! _Go!”_ yelled Shepard.

Too late. The last drones in the swarm converged on the justicar. Rather than slice her to ribbons, two of them leaped forward and _stabbed_ her with sharp prongs. Some kind of energy discharged. Her eyes widened and she went down, apparently alive but paralyzed.

“It’s like the stasis imposed by the Collectors’ seeker swarms,” I said breathlessly.

“More Collector tech.” From our place of momentary concealment, Shepard looked around. “Where is everybody?”

I peeked out as well. Aside from Samara’s unmoving form on the floor, the space appeared empty, patrolled only by a dozen combat drones moving in a slow circuit around the perimeter. “Garrus and Thane must have made it to cover in the upper tiers. I don’t see the Shadow Broker anywhere . . .”

Some intuition must have warned Shepard. He glanced _behind_ us, his eyes widening, and then he shoved me hard to the side.

The Broker’s great mass slammed down on the floor, right where we had been crouching. He roared in frustration, one arm lashing out and catching me across the face. He was _strong_ , horribly strong. I flew backwards and sprawled on the floor at the base of a computer pylon.

I glanced up, lights still swimming in my field of vision, and saw Shepard in a close-quarters duel with the Broker. He ducked under the monster’s swing, dodged to the side, took three rapid steps back and discharged a shotgun in the Broker’s face. None of it had any effect. The Broker was no biotic to have a telekinetic barrier up, but his technological shields seemed as unyielding as granite.

Then the Broker produced his own sidearm: a minigun that wouldn’t have been out of place mounted on a combat vehicle. He brought it to bear and fired _one-handed_.

Shepard fled at a dead run, less than a second ahead of a hail of high-caliber bullets that would have punched through his shields almost instantaneously.

The Broker whirled, snarling, but I had learned; I no longer sprawled on the floor at his feet. I moved as fast as I could among the computer equipment, exposing myself as little as possible, spitting blood from where my teeth had gashed the inside of my mouth. A thought led me to activate my radio. “Garrus? Thane?”

_“Here,”_ said the drell calmly. _“Under cover, dealing with the combat drones as opportunity arises.”_

_“Same here,”_ said Garrus. _“Damn, Liara, you really pissed him off.”_

“Yes, but now he’s fighting stupidly. I hope.”

_“Even fighting stupidly he may be a match for all of us,”_ said Thane. _“I assess the drones as the most immediate threat. One of us is already down and the rest of us dare not concentrate our forces while the drones remain active. If we destroy them, we can focus our remaining efforts on the Broker.”_

“Agreed.” I thought fast for a moment. “I have an idea, but it will take me a few moments to try. See if you can attract their attention.”

I heard a cynical grunt from Garrus.

_“Acknowledged,”_ said Thane.

I worked my way toward the far end of the Broker’s lair, where most of the high-stakes computer displays and controls seemed to cluster. I saw no sign of the drell or the turian, but I did hear a rattle of gunfire off in the distance, and the drones seemed to crowd off in that direction.

I had a moment to access a computer console. Frantically, wishing I was as technically adept as Arin or Tali, I hacked my way through the file hierarchy. It seemed surprisingly easy. I found no access controls to speak of.

_Control Room Defensive Systems_.

Movement, in the corner of my eye.

Like lightning I sent a virus from my omni-tool into the file system, then disengaged and rolled frantically across the floor, just as a burst of laser light scored the floor where I had huddled a moment before.

Then the drone seemed to pause, lose track of my location for a moment.

I didn’t wait to see whether my improvised hack had worked. I simply fired at the drone and reduced it to scrap metal.

On the floor, Shepard played a cat-and-mouse game with the Broker. He had switched to his Shuriken for longer range, popping up for a moment at a time, just long enough to pepper the yahg with a burst and then roll for new cover.

Suddenly I saw the Broker’s shields go down for just a moment. He made a long low growl, like a carnivorous beast in some thick jungle, and struck a pose in the middle of the floor. Energy surged around him, the same color as the plasma behind the lens high above, and his shields began to recover.

I jumped up, fired a long burst right at the Broker’s center of mass. Useless. Every bullet was met by a flash of light and deflected.

Shepard stood upright, staring at the Broker. “Stay down! That shield is kinetically sensitive, designed to deflect high-velocity bullets!”

“Then what can we do?”

He smiled grimly. “I’m betting it won’t do anything about _low-_ velocity impact.”

Then he charged the Broker on foot, ignoring the swarm of combat drones overhead. Somehow they failed to target him, possibly affected by my hack after all. I fired wildly, taking out one drone, then two.

Shepard planted his feet in front of the Broker, and lashed out with his _fist_.

The yahg recoiled, his massive head rocking to the side. Shepard followed up with a left-right-left combination to the Broker’s midsection.

The Broker retreated, growling.

Shepard charged once again.

I saw a flash of red-orange light. The Broker’s omni-tool had flash-manufactured something . . . a large _shield_ that covered him from head to feet. The yahg lashed out with his new protection, catching Shepard in mid-charge and sending him reeling back.

The combat drones wheeled and converged.

“Shepard! Run!” I placed a singularity in mid-air, throwing the drones into disarray and giving Shepard some cover as he regained his balance.

Shepard fled for his life.

The Broker followed, breathing hard, his head hunched down now, covering himself with his omni-shield as he lay down fire with his minigun.

“Now what?” I asked the radio.

_“He can’t cover himself on all sides with that thing,”_ said Garrus, sounding out of breath. _“Not too many of those damn stingers left. If we spread out around the upper tiers, take out the last few drones . . .”_

“Pack tactics. Like the last fight with Saren.”

_“I wasn’t there, but yeah, that looks like the best bet.”_

“All right.”

I went hunting drones. It was rather exciting, since they also hunted _me_ , but after a while I realized that my hack must have worked. Now each of them operated independently, see-target-shoot-target, without using cooperative tactics. So long as I made sure none of them got _behind_ me, I could move and shoot them down without much trouble. Biotics helped, pulling them off course or snarling them up in singularities as needed. Thane and Garrus did the same from wherever they skulked.

Down on the floor, Shepard kept busy staying alive, continuing to wear away at the Shadow Broker’s defenses whenever opportunity appeared. That didn’t happen often. The Broker’s minigun was a frightening weapon, and he had terribly fast reflexes.

I had no drones in my immediate vicinity. I decided to try something new. I reached out with my biotics, took hold of the Broker’s _shield_ , and yanked as hard as I could.

The Broker staggered, giving Shepard the chance to pour in a long burst with his Shuriken and then run to a new vantage point.

_I thought so. You may have strong kinetic barriers, but to do its work that shield has to be outside their protection . . . where I can get to it._

Then I had to roll frantically to my own cover, firing blindly at the three drones that spotted me while I had exposed my position.

Still, the drones seemed less of a threat with each passing minute. I could reach out and hit the Shadow Broker with a telekinetic throw again, then again, each time exposing his body to Shepard’s gunfire.

A thunderbolt struck the Broker in the middle of his back, Garrus taking a shot with his sniper rifle. The yahg’s kinetic barriers flared and went down.

He roared in frustration, moving into the center of the floor once again to strike a pose and rebuild his shields.

This time Shepard needed no encouragement. From his position on the first tier he flash-charged down onto the floor, slamming into the Broker with both fists to his jaw, dodging the counterblow and then driving in once more. The Broker put his omni-shield down, braced himself, and prepared to hold his enemy at bay . . . but Shepard charged in, braced his shoulders against the omni-shield, and _pushed_.

He held the Shadow Broker in place, even as the yahg pushed back with all his might. He fell back half a step, then another, but no more than that.

_Goddess. How is he doing that? The Broker must be five times his mass. Cerberus must have rebuilt him for sheer physical strength on top of everything else._

Then something else struck me.

_Why does the Broker keep moving down to the center of the floor to rebuild his shields?_

I looked up. Saw the great crystal lens in the ceiling. The plasma behind it, the same color as the yahg’s defensive barrier.

I activated my radio. “Shepard! See if you can get him to raise that barrier once more. I have an idea.”

Down on the floor, Shepard and the Broker had disengaged. They stared at each other, both breathing hard, like combatants in an arena. I could see Shepard’s slight nod, and then the battle resumed.

_“This is Thane. Vakarian is down. The last few drones overwhelmed his defenses.”_

“Is he alive?”

_“Yes, but unable to fight.”_ The drell paused for a moment. _“I have his sniper rifle.”_

“Good. _Use it.”_

I couldn’t see Shepard’s face through his black visor, but he suddenly changed his tactics. He began pressing the Broker, risking the minigun’s fire in order to come in close and hammer away with his shotgun. The tactic wasn’t very effective with the Broker’s omni-shield in the way, but Shepard pulled the yahg around after him.

Away from wherever Thane lurked in the upper tiers.

_BOOM_.

A long pause, while Thane reloaded the weapon and sighted in on the Broker’s bulk once more.

_BOOM_.

The yahg whirled to face his unseen foe, but that only gave Shepard the chance to rise out of cover and fire his shotgun from a newly exposed direction. _Crash. Crash_.

The Broker wasn’t looking in my direction. I rose out of cover and threw biotic warps, as fast as I could, one-two-three. Not at the Broker. At the crystal lens set into the ceiling. After a few moments of this I could see the crystal starting to crack, the cracks widening and spreading.

_Now we have you_.

The last of the combat drones fell to the floor in a shower of sparks. Then I finally saw Thane, leaning out from behind a computer console on the second tier, Garrus’s Mantis rifle in his own skilled hands.

_BOOM_.

The Broker’s shields flared and went down once more.

Shepard shouted, a great hoarse scream, and charged down an access ramp onto the floor.

The Broker snarled, put his omni-shield down, and ran at Shepard in turn, obviously planning to stamp him into mush on the floor.

I vaulted over the railing of the first tier, landing on the floor not far from Samara’s prone form, already reaching out with my mind.

A roar from the Shadow Broker, the yahg swinging his omni-shield in a wide, powerful sweep . . .

Shepard wasn’t there. At the last moment he rolled _under_ the Broker, springing back to his feet behind the yahg. _“Liara! Now!”_

I arched my back, my face raised to the ceiling, my arms wide as if I prayed to Athame in the temple. My corona surged into existence, blue-white radiance sheathing my entire body. My mind locked onto the crystal lens, already weakened and cracked.

I made a pulling gesture with both arms, with only one thought in my mind.

_Down_.

The Shadow Broker spun, snarling, suddenly realizing what we had in mind.

Too late. The lens cracked, shattered. White plasma poured out of the conduits on the ceiling, a cascade of violent energy falling to the floor. Right where the Shadow Broker stood.

A roar of frustrated rage. A vast hulking shape, falling to its knees, struggling against the incandescence that killed it. A high-pitched whine of feedback, as plasma reacted to the yahg’s kinetic shielding.

I threw my hands up to protect my face.

_WHAM!_

The entire ship trembled slightly under the force of the explosion.

* * *

When I could see once more, the Shadow Broker was simply _gone_ , only a great burn-scar in the center of the floor to indicate that he had ever existed.

I heard nothing but a vast and echoing silence.

I crossed the floor to stand over Shepard, smiling down at him, giving him a hand to help him rise. He opened his visor and smiled at me in return, then turned away to see to the others.

I stood alone for a moment, breathing hard with the release of ultimate tension, looking around the vast chamber, data still flooding by on every console and screen. My mind started moving again, and the first coherent thought in my mind was: _Now what?_

We had killed the Shadow Broker.

_We had killed the Shadow Broker_.

A network that spanned the galaxy, tens of thousands of informants and operatives, secrets reaching into the top level of every government, many billions of credits in resources . . . and the one individual who controlled all of that was gone. The network had gone adrift, even if none of its members knew it yet.

_Goddess, what have we done?_

Well, there was one thing I could do. I moved over to the nearest control console, confirmed the lack of access controls or authentication, and called up the ship’s security grid. I cut the power to Room 101 in the prison block.

_At least Feron will be able to free himself now._

I almost turned to Shepard once more . . . but a new voice broke in, unfamiliar, coming from the direction of the great wall of displays. _“Shadow Broker, this is Operative Murat. We’ve had a momentary transmission failure. Can you confirm status?”_

Another voice: _“Operative Shora requesting an update. Are we still online?”_

Suddenly a _flood_ of messages began, the Broker’s senior operatives all talking over each other, all of them demanding to know his status, looking for instructions, seeking scraps of reassurance.

_Oh Goddess. The moment the Broker fails to respond, his entire network will know something has gone wrong._

“Liara?” Shepard’s voice, from back where he helped Samara to rise.

I glanced around the displays, looking for something, _anything_ to shut off the tide of confusion and dismay. All of the displays, _all of them_ , choked with calls streaming in from all over the ship. Possibly from all over the _galaxy_.

The network began to crumble, right before my eyes.

_Wait a moment._

I stopped.

Closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

The solution appeared. It was so _simple_.

I glanced across the displays, saw what I would need. Reached out and touched a control.

The flood of incoming messages stopped.

I touched another control, then a third, opening a new holographic panel in front of my face. A channel came up, with voice filtering and reprocessing in place. The channel the yahg had always used to speak with outsiders. The same channel he had used to speak with Feron and me, years before on Alingon.

I took another deep breath, committing myself, and spoke.

“This is the Shadow Broker. The situation is under control. The intruders triggered a power overload before being defeated. This disrupted communications momentarily. However, we are now back online. Resume normal procedures. I want a status report on all operations within one standard day.”

I bowed my head, feeling the enormous weight of it settle onto my shoulders.

“Shadow Broker, out.”

A drell voice, from behind me. “Goddess of oceans. It’s you . . . _you_. How?”

I turned. Feron was standing there, clothed in a stolen jacket and trousers, lowering a stolen weapon.

I sighed. “Well, everyone else who has ever seen him is dead . . . so . . .”

He nodded slowly, eyes wide. “So _you_ are the new Shadow Broker.”

Shepard’s eyes went wide with surprise. “Are you sure about this, Liara?”

“It’s either that or let his whole network collapse. We can’t afford that, not with the Collectors on the march.” I looked down at my hands. They were shaking. “With his network and his resources, I can give you . . . I can . . .”

_Oh Goddess. What have I done? What burden have I just accepted?_

I turned, tears already beginning to stream down my face. I looked up into Shepard’s face, and saw nothing there but compassion.

“It’s over. Finally, after all of that . . .” My voice broke.

Then he stood close, holding me in his arms for the first time in two years. I melted into the embrace, resting my head on his chestplate.

“It’s all right,” he told me, and for a moment I believed him.

Far away, I heard Feron’s voice. “I’ll . . . just go and check the power supply.”

He left, our other friends in tow, giving us a moment of privacy.

“No,” I said at last, breaking away from Shepard’s embrace and staring at him wildly. “This isn’t right. It’s been two years. You have your mission . . . Shepard, so much has changed, we’re two different people . . .”

He gave me an exasperated smile, for just a moment before his hands went around my waist once more, just _there_ , where he had always known to touch me in our previous life together. My eyes fell closed, and then I felt his lips on mine, strong, demanding, possessive and passionate. His tongue slipped into my mouth, and it tasted just as good as I remembered. My consciousness blurred for a long moment.

“Okay,” I breathed, once he had drunk his fill and withdrawn a few millimeters. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he agreed.

I slipped out of Shepard’s arms, not wanting to look at his face, fearing that I would lose all control if I did. I took a deep breath. “We should focus. See what our options are.”

A few moments with the controls, and it became clear that the Broker’s entire network stood completely open. The consoles I had hacked before, during the fight, had been no exception. _Everything_ in the room was ready for us to use.

“No safeguards or user restrictions,” I said at last. “It’s as if he never expected anyone else to be here. It’s all ours.”

“You guessed that he took over from someone else to become the Shadow Broker,” Shepard mused. “Maybe he valued the network he had built, even over his own life. He might not have wanted it to fall apart, even if someone else did the same thing to him.”

“Maybe. I don’t remember much about the yahg, but that might fit their psychology.”

“You _don’t remember much?_ How did you know so much about the Broker, then?”

I gave him a shaky smile. “I didn’t, not really. I remembered studying what little was known about the yahg back when I was at university. It was nothing but an educated guess.”

“T’Soni, remind me _never_ to play poker with you,” he said, shaking his head in rueful admiration.

“Hmm. I _do_ play poker now, thanks to your memories. Maybe we should try a game sometime. Just to see if I come up to your standard.”

“Oh no. I know better than to fall for that one. So what kind of information do we have?”

I turned back to the consoles. “I . . . I don’t know. I couldn’t begin to guess what he had at his fingertips. He was the most powerful information broker in the galaxy. Give me some time to work with the databases, figure out how his system worked. I may call some of my people in from Illium to help. A few days and I should be able to give you something useful.”

“Good . . . but I’m not sure I can stay that long. The Collectors are still out there.”

“At least I can make sure the Broker’s network stops _helping_ the Collectors.” I stared at him, wide-eyed. “Shepard, all I really wanted was to rescue Feron and hurt the Broker. I never expected to _take over_ for him. Is it wrong that a part of me _wants_ this?”

He rested a gentle hand on my shoulder. “It’s not wrong at all. You’ve been preparing for this ever since I died, whether you realized it or not at the time. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather see in this position.”

“All right. I know I can help you. Maybe I can turn this operation into something better.”

“I know you can.”

A thought came to my mind, a terrible realization. “Shepard, there’s something you need to do for me.”

“Anything.”

“When you get back to _Normandy_ , don’t tell anyone what happened here. Certainly none of the Cerberus people.”

He frowned.

“Tell the others . . . Garrus, Samara, Thane . . . tell them to say I was killed in the fighting. You reached an agreement with the Shadow Broker, convinced him to drop his alliance with the Collectors, but that’s all.”

“Liara. I can’t do _that_. Do you know what that will do to all the people who care about you?”

I stared up into his face. “I know, but it’s _necessary_. Shepard, I know the Illusive Man will find out what happened here eventually. But if we can keep him in the dark for a while, even for a few days, that might make all the difference. I might be able to put him off-balance. Give you some room to maneuver against him.”

“I’m working _with_ him for the time being,” he objected. “Not that I expect that state of affairs to last forever.”

“You know who and what he is. He will use you, and he will discard you the moment you’re no longer of value. Just as he uses and discards everyone else.”

He nodded. “I know. I’ve been looking for an opportunity to break free.”

“Maybe I can get you that opportunity, but only if he isn’t watching _me_. Only if I can disappear, operate solely as the Shadow Broker for a while.”

“All right.” He sighed deeply. “I was really hoping to spend some time with you, but if you’re going to play dead . . .”

“I know. You can’t linger, or else people will wonder what keeps you here.” I rose to kiss him again, briefly this time, but with as much promise as I could manage. “Once our ruse has run its course . . . Shepard, you owe me a night in Azure. Surely the galaxy can spare its champion and the Shadow Broker for _one_ night?”

“I suspect we can manage that much,” he said, grinning at me. “Don’t be a stranger this time, Liara.”

“Small chance of that.” I opened my omni-tool, generated a new set of cryptographic keys, and shared them with him. “Here, install these and we’ll stay in touch. Where do you think you will go next?”

“The Citadel,” he said as he opened his own omni-tool to accept the keys. “One of the dossiers on my list is supposed to meet us there. I want to talk to Anderson too.”

“Be careful, Shepard. The Council is _not_ happy with you.”

“Story of my life.” He looked up into my eyes once more. “Liara . . .”

“I know. I will be all right. Go do what you must.”

He laid his hand alongside my cheek, a gentle caress, and then he turned to go.

I turned away, not wanting to see him vanish beyond the great doors.

The display wall loomed before me. All of the galaxy’s secrets at my fingertips.

_Well. Let’s begin._


	47. The Empty Throne

**_1 August 2185, Shadow Broker Vessel/Hagalaz_ **

By the time Feron returned, I had already dived deep into the Shadow Broker’s databases – _my_ databases, I had to remind myself.

_“Normandy_ picked up Shepard and his crew safely,” he said.

“Good.”

I turned away from the console and looked at him closely. I saw a male drell, his scales more brown than green in color, about my height, maybe a little heavier, currently moving in a slight crouch as he wrestled with bone-deep pain. I remembered him taller, stronger, and more confident. He had been almost _cocky_ as we navigated through one desperate situation after another. The last two years had knocked a lot of that out of him. At least his eyes seemed much as I remembered: a sharp gaze, full of quick and lively intelligence.

“There’s bound to be an infirmary around here somewhere,” I said at last. “You need medical attention.”

“Later,” he said calmly. “First I want to know your plans.”

“I appear to have become the new Shadow Broker.” I cocked my head at him. “That’s unless _you_ want the job. For the moment I think the network will accept anyone who stands in this room and has access to the databases.”

“Goddess of oceans, _no_ , don’t even make a joke of it. I know my limits, and trying to be the Shadow Broker would go well beyond them. But I suspect you’re going to need a lot of help to run this, especially at first. I . . . appear to be between jobs at the moment.”

“Feron.” Suddenly I felt myself drowning in remorse, my voice snarled in knots. “Of course I want your help. After all that has happened . . . after I left you on Alingon and ran . . . I owe you more than I’ll ever be able to repay.”

“Don’t think of it that way.” He stepped forward and put his hands gently on my shoulders. “I _told_ you to run for it, you’ll recall. I knew I had to buy you time, knew I would probably pay a steep price for it. If you hadn’t run, we would both be dead right now. So would your friend Shepard. You came for me as soon as you knew I was still alive. Any debt you might have owed me has been repaid.”

“I disagree. At the very least, I owe you a job. I’m not sure yet what the Broker’s network looks like in detail, but I think I can create a box on the table of organization for you. Somewhere close to the top, where you can define your own responsibilities and answer to no one but me. _Special Assistant to the Shadow Broker_. How does that sound?”

He chuckled ruefully. “That’s almost exactly the position Tazzik holds, you know.”

“Oh Goddess, you’re right. _Tazzik_ works for me now, doesn’t he?”

“Well, he works for the Shadow Broker. Best not to let him know that’s you. It would confuse him. He reacts violently to confusion.”

“I remember.” I looked him over carefully. “If you think you’re up for it . . . come on. Let’s explore the Broker’s lair. I have a feeling we’ll be spending a lot of time in here.”

The control center itself we already knew: a vast machine, a place where dozens of analysts could work without crowding each other. Behind that we found workrooms, a laboratory, and an armory, all showing signs of frequent use. The Shadow Broker must have been one of his own foremost technologists.

I shook my head in wonder. “I’m amazed that he came from such a primitive society, and yet adjusted so well to galactic civilization. If the yahg ever get off their homeworld in large numbers, I think the rest of us will have a great deal to worry about.”

Then we found the living quarters: a whole suite of bedrooms, made up for a variety of sentient beings, all of them clean and neat but most of them looking long unused.

“Odd to find room for so many here,” I mused. “The yahg seems to have lived here alone, but if there was a previous Shadow Broker . . . do you suppose he or she kept company back here?”

“Hard to say,” said Feron. “That was probably a long time ago. No sign of anyone else back here now.”

Only one of the bedrooms had clearly seen recent use, an austere chamber with a great nest of cushions and blankets sunk into the floor. Feron chuckled grimly as we peered into this room. “Three guesses where the yahg slept.”

We found a dining area with a sophisticated autokitchen, a recreation room, a whole room seemingly dedicated to sauna and an _enormous_ hot tub. “He certainly didn’t stint on his own comforts.”

Feron frowned. “If he lived here all alone, for years on end . . .”

“Probably not,” I said, pointing. At the far end of the corridor we were standing in, we saw a sign painted on the walls: _Private_ _Shuttle Bay_. “I’m betting he could leave and return without ever going through the rest of the ship. Who knows how often he went out to travel the galaxy? If he moved carefully, if no one knew who he was, he could be just one more odd alien from a planet no one knows about. There are others like that wandering the galaxy, beings from little civilizations that don’t have much contact with the Citadel species.”

“Maybe. I still imagine he would have gone a little insane in here.”

“Maybe yahg don’t get lonely quite the way you or I would,” I suggested.

On our way back to the control center, we found another strange room: a large circular space with a walkway leading up to a raised platform in the center. Curious, Feron and I moved up the walkway to see if we could find some sign of the room’s purpose.

Suddenly we stopped. A hologram formed at the far side of the platform: big, alien-looking, with multiple eyes and a great triangular maw. The yahg again. I wanted to draw a weapon. Beside me I could sense Feron, tense with sudden fear.

The hologram spoke, in that same profoundly deep and oddly urbane voice.

_“I was Nepar tan-Ardut ha-Paranth ha-Jenthar ha-Kechlu ha-Nerinn. In the common language of the star-creatures: Nepar of the Ardut pack, slayer of Paranth, Jenthar, Kechlu, and Nerinn. Each of these I killed with my own hands, to take their names and their power for myself. I was the Shadow Broker.”_

Feron and I exchanged a wide-eyed glance.

_“In my youth, the star-creatures removed me from my world. I left with them of my own will. Had it not been of my own will, I would have killed them or died at their hands, as my pack-mates did when they faced the same choice. I felt curiosity about the star-creatures and their ways. I chose to pay the price of eternal exile to learn more of them._

_“In turn I was a curiosity to Operative Kechlu, and to the salarian **dalatrass** Nerinn who was the first Shadow Broker. Each of them underestimated me. They paid for that mistake with their lives. I took all that they owned. I became the Shadow Broker in my own turn. For over fifty years I have stood as the Broker, and destroyed all who opposed me._

_“Yet there is one enemy whose talons no one can avoid forever. Time the Hunter is my foe, and though I have given him a good run, a long run, I know I cannot evade him forever. I feel him in my bones, I sense him creeping in the shadows. A time will come when I can no longer hold all that I have taken. Perhaps my body will fail at last. Perhaps another will come in search of me, to bring me down as I once did to Kechlu and Nerinn._

_“I have no heir of the body, and it is too late for me to return home and take a mate as I might have done in my youth. I must therefore accept another destiny. If you stand here to hear this, then I am dead. Perhaps I died in peace and you have been summoned to stand as my heir-designate. Perhaps you are the one who brought me down. Only with my death and the presence of my successor will this message be heard. You are my heir of the mind. You are now the Shadow Broker._

_“I leave you all that I have built. You will find my legacy to be extensive. I do not begrudge you the opportunity to profit by it. He who fails to profit from an opportunity is already dead, even if he does not yet know it. Yet I charge you not to use my network and resources solely for your own gain. Use them as I have: to preserve the galaxy as a place where none may rule supreme, where all may find the room to run free.”_

Suddenly we saw a streak of white light. A small white holo-drone zoomed out of a dark corner and appeared beside the yahg’s image, hovering in mid-air.

_“You will find my network and resources to be well-organized and easy to use. You now have full access to all of my databases and operating procedures. This drone will assist you.”_

“Greetings, Shadow Broker!” said the drone, its voice cartoonishly bright and cheerful as it bobbed in place.

Feron made a strangled noise.

The yahg’s image continued: _“Acquit yourself as well as I have, my heir, so that when Time the Hunter comes for you, you may stand proudly and throw defiance in his teeth. Goodbye.”_

It faded away, leaving nothing but the holographic drone behind.

“I am ready to assist you, Shadow Broker!”

This time Feron was unable to restrain himself. He broke out in a full-blown guffaw.

I had to smile. “Something wrong?”

“This is _not_ the kind of personal assistant I would have expected the Broker to keep,” he said. “I would think he would have preferred something more, I don’t know, _grim_ , serious, ruthless . . .”

The drone flashed, suddenly glowing red and sprouting holographic spikes. Its voice dropped well over an octave and acquired menacing undertones. _“I am capable of formatting my presentation in such a manner, Shadow Broker.”_

“No, no, that’s quite all right,” I said hastily. “Please return to your previous . . . format.”

Once again a clear white sphere hovered before us. “Of course! If I may inquire, which of you is the Shadow Broker?”

“She is,” said Feron, pointing to me without hesitation.

“Do you concur, Dr. T’Soni?”

Somehow I felt no surprise that the drone knew who I was. “Yes, I concur.”

The drone zoomed closer, scanned my face and eyes. I took off my gloves and permitted it to scan my hands as well.

“Thank you, Shadow Broker! You now have alpha-level access to the entire network, keyed to your biometric signature! May I say, it is _certainly_ easier to identify you with only one-fourth as many eyes to scan!”

Feron grinned. “Wouldn’t the simple fact that the Shadow Broker _had_ eight eyes be enough?”

“His protocols required that full biometric analysis be done whenever he returned to this vessel from a mission,” explained the drone. “He considered it possible that another yahg might attempt to impersonate him.”

“But there _aren’t_ any other yahg away from their homeworld,” Feron objected.

“That we know of,” I pointed out. “They are a frighteningly capable species, ferocious and extremely intelligent. If the Shadow Broker thought he had reason to be cautious, I don’t think it would be wise to second-guess him.”

“All departments are responding to your order for a summary of current status, Shadow Broker! Shall I queue up the reports for your attention?”

“Yes, please . . . um, _info drone_. First, though, we need to see to security. Who else had access to these quarters? Are there any staff who might expect to come in for maintenance?”

“No, Shadow Broker! Your offices and quarters are completely self-contained! Robots and drones such as myself perform all necessary maintenance! If major repairs are required, they are normally done while you retreat into your inner quarters, or while you are away from the ship!”

“Who is on the access list now?”

“Only you, Shadow Broker! All other prior access was deleted when you accepted your new position!”

“All right. I want Feron added to the access list . . . and Shepard. I may have others to add later.”

“Of course, Shadow Broker!”

I realized that I could tolerate that title only so often. Especially in such a cheerful tone. “Info drone, you are to address me as _Dr. T’Soni_. And tone down your delivery a little.”

“Acknowledged, Dr. T’Soni.”

“Perfect.” I sighed. “All right, Feron, I think with the info drone to help I can get started here. Get to the infirmary and have them look you over. Do you think it will be safe for you to go alone, or will that be suspicious?”

“Hmm.” His dark eyes blinked in thought. “Issue an order as the Broker and it should be safe enough. It won’t be the first time in the past two years that I’ve been patched up, so they could be sure I wouldn’t die on them.”

I felt another surge of guilt. “Oh Feron, I’m so sorry.”

“We’ve had this discussion, Liara, remember?”

“I know. I’ll probably be apologizing to you at odd moments for a long time.”

“I can live with that. It will be interesting working for a Shadow Broker who has a conscience.”

* * *

**_2 August 2185, Shadow Broker Vessel/Hagalaz_ **

That first day presented a confusion of riches.

The Broker’s network covered the galaxy. He had visibility into powerful institutions I had never before been able to reach. His records went back for decades. _He had known about the Reapers_ , had evidence about them that I had never even suspected might exist. I dove into those files, spent hours with them. By the time Feron returned I felt a bone-deep chill.

_The Reapers will be far worse than we ever imagined . . . and they may be very close._

I stood, multitasking in a dozen windows at once, when Feron finally returned from the infirmary. I glanced at him and felt reassured. He no longer walked as if he was in pain, and he had taken the time to eat, bathe, and put on fresh clothing. I could still see signs of fatigue and pain about him, and if I was any judge of drell he looked much older than when I had met him. Yet he seemed himself once again.

“Liara, you should get some rest.”

I wondered what he saw when he looked at _me_. I checked my omni-tool and realized I had been awake for almost twenty hours straight.

“Perhaps you’re right. It’s just . . . there’s so much here. I have a thousand questions still to answer, a thousand lines of investigation to try.”

“It will all be there after you’ve had some sleep.”

He was right, of course. So the two of us went back to the quarters area and picked out two rooms to serve as our temporary apartments. I took a long hot shower, wished for comfortable nightwear, and settled for sleeping in the nude. The bed felt so luxuriously comfortable that for all my concerns, I dropped off at once.

When I awoke I had that momentary panic of _not knowing where I was_. Then I remembered all the events of the previous day. I also discovered that my subconscious mind had apparently sorted through much of its confusion. I had a clear set of priorities.

I found Feron already awake, eating a morning meal in the dining area, the information drone hovering brightly nearby. “Good morning.”

“Good morning. I have to wonder, how did the Shadow Broker arrange for the everyday necessities of life? Food, clothing, that sort of thing?”

“The autokitchen here is superb,” said Feron. “I think it’s supplied through a double-blind system so that the Broker’s staff can’t deduce what kind of creature is eating the food.”

“I can arrange for the secure delivery of anything else you might require, Dr. T’Soni,” said the drone.

I sat down, called up a menu, ordered bread and a fruit collation for breakfast. “Good. I can’t keep wearing my mission outfit all day, every day. I’ll make a list.”

“What’s on the agenda for today?” asked Feron.

“I have a task for you.” I nibbled at the fruit for a moment, thinking it through. “I want you to go through the status reports for current operations, and flag the ones that we might find morally objectionable. I’ll review the ones you flag, and decide what to do about them. I know I can’t change the Broker’s network all at once, but we should be able to find the most questionable items, and shut them down as opportunities arise.”

“All right,” he said, with some satisfaction. “How about you?”

“I have a couple of extranet calls to make. One of them will take _serious_ preparation.”

* * *

I checked the network’s encryption resources and saw they were formidable . . . although I resolved to find out how Cerberus had gotten hold of a high-level cryptographic certificate, in what was now _my_ network. After all, I had needed nothing more to begin the chain of logic that ended with the yahg’s demise. Still, I could _probably_ count on my transmissions being private. Standing on the platform in the communications room in the back, I placed the first call.

An asari face appeared before me: Aspasia, looking worn and rather sad at first. Her eyes widened when she saw who was calling. _“Liara! We were all so worried. We assumed you must have reached your destination by now, but when we didn’t hear anything . . .”_

I smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry. No matter what else you may hear, I am all right. Can we make a conference call of this? I want Vara, Quintus, and Arin to hear what I have to say, but our discussion has to be _absolutely_ secure, and I don’t want anyone else to know that I’ve called. Can you do that?”

_“I’ll call a meeting in the small conference room, without telling the others what is happening. Can you wait five minutes?”_

“Certainly.”

Soon enough, the display cleared and I could see all of my friends, gathered around the familiar conference table.

I smiled at all of them. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. I have some . . . _surprising_ news for all of you, but first I need to impress on you the sensitivity of what we’re going to discuss. Everything said here is to be considered classified at the _Most Secret_ level, and shared with _no one_ without my express authorization. Do you acknowledge?”

One by one, looking somewhat puzzled, all four of them stated their agreement.

“Thank you. I’ll give you the executive summary first. Our war against the Shadow Broker is over. We have won a victory beyond anything I could possibly have anticipated.” I paused, glancing at each of them in turn. “In fact, _I am now the Shadow Broker_ _.”_

Complete silence around the table. Aspasia and Vara gave each other a _she-must-have-gone-mad_ look, while the others simply watched with faint confusion.

_About the reaction I expected_ , I reminded myself. I explained at length, giving the whole story. By the time I got to the end, their reactions had changed. Aspasia and Vara watched me with wide, bright eyes, obviously thinking about the possibilities. Quintus nodded, his mandibles flaring in a turian grin. Even Arin drummed his fingers on the table, barely containing his excitement.

“So you see where this leaves us,” I said at last. “We now have control of a network many times the size of our own, resources we could never have dreamed of before. We can step up the fight against the Collectors, against the Reapers, in ways I haven’t even begun to assess. But Feron and I can’t do this alone. I need help, people I can trust, here at Hagalaz.”

_“Is it your intention to fold this corporation into the Shadow Broker network?”_ asked Aspasia slowly.

“I have no intention of shutting down T’Soni Analytics, or of subsuming it into the Broker’s network. In appearance, and for the most part in fact, I intend for the two to operate independently.” I shook my head, knowing the question she really wanted to ask. “Don’t worry, Aspasia, I have no interest in dismantling the corporation you and I worked so hard to create.”

She nodded. _“Then you only need to raid our personnel.”_

“For a time. Can you spare Vara, Quintus, and Arin for . . . say, a few weeks?”

_“Not easily, but I think we can keep up with our conventional business lines without them. Do I have your permission to do some hiring? We’ve lost so many critical people: James, Yevgeni, Tana. Even Nyxeris was very productive when she wasn’t reporting to the Shadow Broker. I mean, the former Shadow Broker. Oh, Goddess damn it, this is confusing . . .”_

I laughed and shook my head. “Imagine how I feel about it. Yes, of course, go ahead and hire some new personnel.”

_“ **Despoina** , do you want us to continue the pretense that you may be dead?”_ asked Vara. _“Half of Illium is convinced you were killed in the bombing at the Dracon Trade Center. We’ve been encouraging that idea, as you instructed.”_

Aspasia nodded. _“Matriarch Kallyria called here yesterday. She was quite distraught at first. I was able to reassure her.”_

“Oh Goddess, I should have thought of that. Thank you for talking to her. She can be discreet.”

_“She asked us to pass along a message. She is praying for your success and is ready to help in any way you need.”_

“Thank you.” I took a deep breath, thinking things through. “In fact, when _Normandy_ returns to civilization, you may hear rumors that I was killed _here_. The truth can’t be concealed forever – too many people know I’m alive and well – but for now I have to drop out of sight. For a little while yet, the galaxy needs to think that the old Shadow Broker won our battle, that he’s still in control of his organization.”

Vara’s eyes narrowed. _“What do you have in mind, **despoina**?”_

_“Hah!”_ said Quintus, leaning forward suddenly. _“Cerberus, of course.”_

“Correct. Shepard and I think that we may soon need to . . . _re-evaluate_ our relationships with Cerberus. Best if the Illusive Man does not see that coming.”

_“Agreed. He doesn’t have a reputation for reacting well to betrayal,”_ said Aspasia. _“All right, Vara and the others will take the **Benezia** and leave as soon as they can for Hagalaz. Do you have command codes or something, so the Broker’s men don’t open fire on them?”_

“Don’t worry. _My_ people won’t give you any trouble.”

* * *

The second call took _much_ more preparation. Less than a day as the Shadow Broker, and I was about to apply the power of that position in a very open and blatant manner.

It needed to be done. The more I examined the Broker’s files, the more certain I became that it _could_ be done. Yet I sensed plenty of room for error, and the stakes were very high. So I took several hours to review the relevant files, make notes, and plan how to shape the conversation.

Several hours to step down _hard_ on the cold rage I felt, reading some of what I found in those files.

Finally I stood on the communications stage once more. This time I had all of the voice-processing and image-filtering algorithms on line. The other side would see a vague shape, shadowy and motionless, nothing to indicate even the species of the caller. They would hear a generic voice, carefully controlled to filter out any quirks of pronunciation or intonation. There would be no clues to my identity, so long as I was careful.

The call went through almost at once. Apparently the Shadow Broker was _not_ on the ignore list.

“Good evening, Councilor Tevos.”

The asari Councilor looked back at me, elegantly beautiful as ever, her hands clasped behind her back, her expression betraying nothing but calm patience. _“Shadow Broker.”_

“I have some information you may find useful,” I said politely. “I also have a request.”

_“Go on,”_ she said guardedly.

“First, the information: I can confirm that the human, William Shepard, is alive. He has made a temporary alliance with the outlaw organization Cerberus, in order to oppose the Collectors. He is currently on his way to the Citadel, where he intends to meet with Councilor Anderson. He may plan to meet with the Council as a whole.”

Tevos had centuries of practice in ensuring that her face and body language revealed _nothing_ she did not intend. Perhaps her eyes widened slightly, her lips turned downward less than a millimeter before she spoke. _“Interesting. What is your request?”_

“When he arrives, you will confirm and reinstate his Spectre status.”

_That_ got a reaction from her. I had deliberately phrased my _request_ as a blunt command. Even with the voice filters in place, I knew the nuance had come across as intended.

_“You cannot be serious,”_ she said. _“Shepard has gone rogue. He killed another Spectre on Illium.”_

“I believe you would have considered Tela Vasir as having gone rogue as well. She was working on _my_ orders at the time.”

_“ **Your** orders?”_ she snapped, self-control finally breaking down.

“Of course, Councilor. Were it not for the fact that I must protect my sources and methods, I could name several other Spectres who have performed _favors_ for me, in exchange for useful intelligence. Vasir proved useful to me on a number of occasions. It is a pity that she made the fatal error of opposing Shepard when he came to Dr. T’Soni’s defense.”

_“Then why are you supporting the human now?”_

“Shepard and I have reached an agreement. His mission is of critical importance. I am backing him with intelligence and operational support. _You will do the same_ _.”_

Tevos shook her head. _“What you ask is not possible. By your own admission Shepard is working with Cerberus. That constitutes treason.”_

“Unless he is a Spectre,” I pointed out. “A Spectre is permitted to make any alliances he requires to carry out his mission. The Council may disavow him, but until that occurs he cannot be charged with treason.”

_“He **cannot** be a Spectre. He **died**.”_

“Yet today he lives. That suggests he was removed from the Spectre rolls prematurely.” I paused, making a small control gesture to adjust the voice filters. The voice Tevos heard dropped in tone, became slightly more menacing. “Councilor, resistance to this request is counterproductive. You may deny the fact in public, your colleagues may not understand the truth, but _you_ are fully aware that the galaxy is under considerable threat. The Collectors are only the first sign of what is to come. You need Shepard.”

She shook her head. _“My colleagues will never agree.”_

“Then it is your task to _cause_ them to agree. Councilor, what would happen if the galaxy learned _why_ the Council has failed to act against the Collectors? Why the humans in the Terminus Systems have been left to fend for themselves?”

Dead silence from the other end of the line, for a long minute.

“Councilors Sparatus and Valern have permitted the Collectors to act freely, precisely so that human power can be curtailed. They fear and mistrust the humans, so they are _pleased_ to see human colonies destroyed. To maintain asari partnerships with the salarians and turians, you personally have acquiesced to this. Yet suppose this . . . _policy decision_ became public knowledge? The Council’s reputation already hangs by a thread, given your failures in the matter of Saren and the geth. This revelation would finally and utterly discredit you. The humans would doubtless withdraw from the Citadel Conventions. Others might well follow, seeing how willingly you have sacrificed others for your own purposes. You would be fortunate to avoid interstellar war, with the Systems Alliance and all its might _opposing_ you. What then, when the Reapers appear?”

Tevos had gone quite pale. _“How did you learn of this?”_

“It is my business to discover such things.” I waited for a moment, watching her, and then continued. “Councilor, it is a small thing I ask. Recognize Shepard as a Spectre, and his alliance with Cerberus ceases to be an issue. He will be able to call on Council resources to oppose the Collectors. Whatever your colleagues may believe, the Collectors _must_ be opposed. _You know what stands behind them_ _.”_

_“Very well,”_ she said at last. _“If Shepard appears on the Citadel, I will give him my support. Anderson will agree, and I can probably convince Valern as well. Three out of four will be enough to . . . clarify his Spectre status.”_

“Thank you, Councilor.” I smiled at her, even knowing she couldn’t see or hear it, and then I sunk in the knife. “We will doubtless speak again soon.”

I turned away once the call was finished, to find Feron standing by the door, leaning up against the wall with his arms folded. “You rather enjoyed that.”

I bared my teeth, in what could only charitably be described as a smile. “You’re damned right I did. To discover that she _knows_ about the Reapers, that she understands what we are up against and _still_ agreed to push it all into the shadows? She has the gall to accuse _Shepard_ of treason!”

“Does it surprise you to discover that the great and powerful Council are _corrupt?_ _”_ he asked cynically.

“I suppose not . . . but the _scale_ of it, Feron. You would not _believe_ some of the things I’ve already found in the files about all three of the old Councilors. Anderson is no saint, but he’s the only one on the Council who even _approaches_ honesty.”

“The yahg must have had his reasons for not using all of that.”

“I’m sure he did. I need to read more of his records, try to figure out his motives. Why he somehow thought it was a good idea to ally with the Collectors. Things are different now. I don’t plan to let anything or anyone stand in the way of fighting the Reapers.” I gave him a sharp glare. “Ordinary corruption I don’t care about. I’ve done worse myself. But if the Council continues to connive and obstruct while the galaxy itself catches fire . . . then, by the Goddess, _I will break them_.”

Slowly, his black eyes fixed on mine, Feron nodded in agreement.


	48. Epistles

**3 August 2185  
** **Citadel**

_Liara,_

Very busy day today. We arrived at the Citadel late in ship’s morning, and I set up a meeting with my next recruit, a human named Kasumi Goto. She claims to be the best thief in the galaxy, but she’s proud of the fact that almost no one has heard of her. It would be interesting to see if there’s anything about her in the Broker’s files. She’s going to be a big asset for the team. Superb technical skills. Also a really appealing personality and a wicked sense of humor. I think you would like her.

Met with Anderson this afternoon, and that turned into a meeting with the whole Council. It was tense. Hostile. I was proud of Anderson. I can tell he gets overruled a lot by the other three, but he doesn’t let that wear him down. He stood his ground long enough for the asari Councilor to smooth things over. They came up with a compromise: I get my Spectre status confirmed, but in turn I agree to restrict my operations to the Terminus Systems where the Cerberus association won’t be quite so embarrassing. Since the Collectors seem to be most active out in the Terminus, I felt willing to concede that.

Speaking of which, the Spectre network seems to think the Collectors are overdue for another attack. It’s been eight standard days since the attack on Horizon, and no sign or word of them. Does your network give you any insight into what they might be planning?

It was good to see Anderson. After I briefed him on everything we’ve doing, he promised me any support he could muster. I can tell he wants me to return to the Alliance, but he didn’t say anything. He’s a good soldier, but he’s lived through his own share of betrayals and moral compromises. I think he understands how I feel right now, without needing me to explain.

Oh, and I also saw Udina for a few minutes. Still the same oily, unprincipled bastard we remember. I don’t think he’s ever quite recovered from the fact that Anderson is now his superior. Anderson tolerates him, though. Says he’s useful. I’ll take his word for it.

I miss you. I know why we had to part ways again so suddenly, but it was hard. It’s even harder to pretend that you’re gone, to play the stoic in front of the Cerberus crew. I think your secret is holding, though. Miranda suspects something, but she has no evidence, and I know none of the others who were on the Broker’s ship with us will give anything away. It’s hard to tell what the Illusive Man is thinking, but I don’t think he understands what really happened either.

Still, I’ll be glad when we can drop the pretense. I’ve been thinking about what we might do after the Collectors have been dealt with, assuming we all survive that long. There has to be some way you and I can work on the Reaper problem _together_.

Love you.

_SHEPARD_

* * *

**5 August 2185  
** **Hagalaz**

_Shepard,_

One of my top priorities has been to search through the Broker’s files and discover everything I can about the Collectors. It turns out that the Broker was in regular communication with an entity he called the “Collector-General,” apparently the leader of those Collectors who are active in the galaxy as a whole. I’m not certain whether the Collector-General is one specific member of the species, but that seems likely.

The Collector-General has the ability to subsume the consciousness of any individual Collector at will, even across interstellar distances. The Collector being _possessed_ takes on a new appearance, as if it’s glowing with energy. It behaves with increased intelligence and initiative, and it acquires the ability to hurl bolts of energy, like an overpowered biotic strike. I think I may have seen the beginning stages of this _possession_ on Alingon. Have you seen any examples of it?

In any case, the only collaboration I can find evidence for was specifically between the former Broker and the Collector-General. The Broker’s subordinates did nothing to support the alliance except at his express command. That should make it easy to cut off support to the Collectors. I’ve already taken the necessary steps.

Meanwhile I’ve reviewed conversations between the former Broker and the Collector-General. It’s clear that the Broker provided intel and support for the attacks on human colonies. Since about six months ago, most of their discussions have been focused on target selection and estimates of colony defenses.

I’ve verified that the Collectors are specifically interested in _you_. I still can’t tell what they’re doing with all the humans they steal from the colonies, but they are searching for you, and for other members of your team from the war against Saren. They selected Ferris Fields because the Broker told them I would be there. They selected Horizon because the Broker told them Ashley Williams was there.

The Broker and the Collector-General last spoke on 28 July, two days after Horizon. That conversation didn’t have anything to do with another colony attack. Instead, the Collector-General asked specifically about you. The Broker turned over extensive records stolen from the Lazarus Project. Estimates of your capabilities and intentions. A complete psychological profile. Reading between the lines, I think the Collectors may have put their operations against the human colonies on hold for now. That would at least explain why we’ve seen no more attacks on the old timetable. It suggests that they are allocating all their resources to another objective.

Be careful, Shepard. I’m afraid the Collectors are planning to lay a trap for you.

My friends arrived from Illium today. We’re already hard at work gaining control over the Broker’s organization. Vara and Feron are helping me go through the Broker’s databases, so I can master all the information he accumulated over the years. Quintus is busy rebuilding the Broker’s armed forces, easing out troopers who can’t be trusted, hiring new officers and men to replace the ones we killed on Illium or during our assault on the airship.

Arin’s job may be the most important. He’s looking at the Broker’s technical infrastructure: how orders and information move through the network, how operatives and informants recognize higher authority, what happens when nodes in the network get compromised. He’s already discovered how Cerberus acquired the data that helped me break open the cell on Illium. _That_ won’t happen again.

Arin and I hope to _restructure_ the entire network.

The old Broker relied too much on concealment, hiding his headquarters and crucial network nodes away from anyone who might come in search of them. I believe the human phrase is _security through obscurity_. It’s a strategy of assuming an adversary will never _see_ where one’s vulnerabilities lie, and therefore can never learn how to exploit them. It can be effective for a time, but it’s very short-sighted, because eventually some adversary is going to be clever enough to see through your camouflage.

The Illusive Man is very clever indeed, and he already knows where the Shadow Broker’s central node must be. You may be able to conceal for a time that I’m still alive, or that I’ve taken over as the Broker. You can’t conceal that _Normandy_ went to Hagalaz, and too many Cerberus personnel were present while we deduced where the Broker was hiding. Sooner or later Cerberus is going to strike right here, at what the Illusive Man believes to be the core of the Broker’s network. Before that happens I intend for the Broker’s network to be redesigned, so that it no longer _has_ a core.

I need the network to be as resilient as possible. Wipe out a node of the network – _any_ node, no matter how important – and the network should be able to re-route communications around the gap and carry on. The Broker’s network can’t do that right now, it’s too hierarchical and rigid, but with help from Arin and others I think we can make the necessary changes.

Besides, that’s the only way I’ll ever be able to escape from this dungeon and still function as the Shadow Broker. I intend for the command node to be so small that I can take it with me anywhere I go. Compressing all the necessary functionality into an omni-tool is probably too much to ask, but one or two rooms full of equipment should be enough.

That may mean the Shadow Broker can eventually come and travel with you, Shepard. Maybe not _just_ like old times. I think I would need more room than a corner behind the medical bay. But then I see that your cabin on the new _Normandy_ is much larger and more comfortable than the one you used to have. You even have your own shower, which you aren’t required to share with anyone.

Except me, of course.

_LIARA_

* * *

**11 August 2185  
** **Interstellar space, Eagle Nebula cluster**

_Liara,_

Bastard set us up.

I had better start from the beginning. There’s too much to sum up all at once.

The Illusive Man called us just as we were finishing our business on the Citadel. He had a tip from turian military communications. A turian cruiser on patrol had caught, engaged, and badly damaged a Collector ship. If we moved fast enough, we could board the derelict and investigate before any other Collectors came by to do search-and-rescue.

It seemed like a good opportunity. If we’re ever going to strike back at the Collectors, we have to figure out how they’re able to use the Omega-4 Relay. Nobody else ever comes back from wherever that relay leads. The Collectors must have some method for traversing the relay, some technology that no one else can duplicate. So I had Joker take us there as fast as possible.

We found the derelict. It certainly _looked_ dark, and sure enough there was a turian cruiser nearby, also badly damaged and showing no signs of life. I took Miranda, Garrus, Jack, and Zaeed with me, and we boarded the Collector ship.

At first it was easy. Lots of dead Collectors. Lots of dead humans too, some of them mutilated, showing signs of experimentation. We haven’t been able to figure out what the Collectors were doing, but it seemed to involve comparing human and Collector genetic codes. That’s when we made the first big discovery. We were able to download genetic data from one of the Collector dead. EDI checked that data against other known genetic structures.

Liara, _the Collectors are Protheans_.

They’ve degenerated somehow. Something has tampered drastically with their genes, to the point that they’re not even the same species anymore. Whole chromosomes have gone missing, a lot of the junk DNA has been removed. But the evidence is clear. They have the same four-strand genetic structure, some of the same individual genes that you and your colleagues have seen in Prothean remains. EDI was even able to guess which Prothean colonies the dead Collector’s ancestors had come from.

We think the Reapers must have done it, re-engineered some Protheans after the last cycle. They’re like husks, although obviously they’re smarter than the human-based husks we’ve seen. They can use tools and weapons, advanced technology, but they don’t have any will of their own. They do what the Reapers order and nothing else.

I’m sorry. I can only imagine how you must feel, learning that some Protheans have survived all these thousands of years, but only as slaves of the Reapers.

Anyway. We moved on. Found our way to the core of the ship. Linked the ship’s central computer to _Normandy_ so EDI could data-mine their network.

Then it happened. The ship started to come alive around us. The Collector computer went active and counterattacked, and EDI had to fight like hell to keep it from taking over the _Normandy_. Live Collectors came out of hiding, surrounding us. We had to fight our way out.

It was one of the toughest fights I’ve ever been in. Dozens of Collector troopers, and yes, we _did_ see plenty of examples of that “Collector-General” you mentioned, possessing them on the battlefield. Thing even spoke to us, although it didn’t say anything worth hearing. We saw husks, including some kind of bomb-husks that would run into the middle of our formation and explode. Several of those slow-moving artillery-husks. We even fought one of those flying things, like a giant Collector skull with insect legs, plasma beams shooting out of its eyes. We kept getting trapped in rooms, fighting with our backs to the wall while EDI tried to override locks and open doors. By the time we got back to the shuttle I had almost lost Garrus and Jack, and none of us got out unhurt.

Don’t worry. Obviously we _did_ get out. Everyone is fine. And we are all _royally_ pissed off.

The whole thing was a setup, from start to finish. You warned me of a trap. It looks as if you were right. But there’s more. It turns out that the _Collectors_ sent the signal that tipped off the Illusive Man, making it look like a turian report, but _the fake wasn’t perfect_. The Illusive Man _had to have known_ , and he sent us in anyway without warning us of the trap. He gambled with all of our lives.

Actually, I had expected something like this to happen. You and I know how the Illusive Man is. He regards everyone else as a pawn to be played on the chessboard, and expended the moment it becomes convenient. I was angry, and I told him so, and he knows I am going to be _damn_ careful with any “requests” he sends our way in the future. Surprised I was not.

I think the most interesting consequence has been how the Cerberus crew reacted to the setup. We don’t actually have very many Cerberus fanatics on board. I think Miranda and the Illusive Man have deliberately stacked the crew with _reasonable_ people, because they want me to think of Cerberus as a reasonable organization. The problem that poses for the Illusive Man is that people like that can’t just be used and discarded as tools. A rational man can see when his superiors have no loyalty to him as an individual, and sooner or later he will rationally choose to place his loyalty somewhere else.

I think that is starting to happen with a number of the Cerberus crew. They see that the Illusive Man deliberately put us in danger with no assurance of success, keeping vital information away from us in the process. They also see that all of us _working together_ could overcome the obstacles, win a victory, and get away safely.

They may be beginning to look for an alternative, somewhere else to place their loyalty that will be more in accordance with their principles.

I intend to give them that alternative.

Even Miranda is starting to come around. She seemed all but distraught when she realized what the Illusive Man had done. Jack saying _I fucking told you so_ didn’t exactly help. I’ve spoken to her since the mission was over. She and I have become close, in a way. Not lovers, but effective partners, maybe even friends. That doesn’t mean she’s ready to confide all of her doubts to me. Still, reading between the lines, I think she is re-evaluating her loyalties. She’s still loyal to Cerberus as an idea, but I suspect she has just about given up on the Illusive Man. I can work with that.

A few more items you should know about. We _were_ able to discover how the Collectors use the Omega-4 relay safely. They use an Identify-Friend-Foe system, based on Reaper technology, to trigger higher-order interactions with the relay. That delivers them to their destination with the precision they need to make the trip safely.

And where is that destination? That’s the surprising part. The other endpoint of the relay is _in the heart of the galactic core_. One would think that’s completely uninhabitable space. Certainly no civilization we know of has ever successfully sent an expedition there. But that _would_ make it a very good place for the Reapers, or their slaves, to hide.

The Illusive Man is going to work on duplicating the Reaper IFF technology. While he does that, _Normandy_ is going off the grid for a while. We need to gather resources. Build up our technological base. Recruit more specialists for the team, and make sure everyone is thoroughly focused on the mission. When we face the Collectors again, I want us ready to drive them back to the galactic core where they came from. Maybe even chase them there and decide this once and for all.

Enough. How are things going for the mysterious Shadow Broker?

(Can I just say how very weird it is that I find myself lying awake at night, wishing that I had _the Shadow Broker_ in my bed? At least I haven’t had any dreams of waking up in the morning next to an amorous yahg. Good Lord, what an image.)

_SHEPARD_

* * *

**13 August 2185  
** **Hagalaz**

_Shepard,_

Thank the Goddess you got through that mission in one piece and with no losses. I know very well how terrible a foe the Collectors can be, especially if they can maneuver so they have the advantage. I may never forget what happened to my team on Ferris Fields.

The Collectors are relic Protheans? Athame compassionate and merciful. _Send me all your data._

Life here has been much quieter than what you describe, but very productive.

I’ve gone through many of the old Broker’s personal files. He was not one to bare his soul even in a private journal, but many of his plans and motivations do become visible with enough investigation. I think I understand now why he was willing to ally himself with the Collectors.

He knew about the Reapers, you see, and he knew the Collectors worked as their agents. I think his hope was something like Saren’s. He thought if he cooperated with the Reapers, he might be able to win survival for a few, even while the rest of the galaxy was destroyed. Yet he wasn’t looking for personal survival, and I don’t think he was indoctrinated. He was hoping to protect another group: _the rest of the yahg, back on his homeworld_.

I think it had to do with yahg psychology. They’re not quite like any other sentient species I know. Salarians and volus are herbivores. The rest of us are omnivores, preferring varying quantities of meat in our diets. Even the vorcha are not always meat-eaters. But the yahg are _obligate carnivores_. They have no interest in vegetable foods and can’t even digest them. They have all the instincts of a beast that lives by stalking and killing its prey.

The yahg think of all aliens as prey, and they hold all the rest of us “star-creatures” in contempt. But an intelligent carnivore never tries to kill and eat _all_ of the prey. He actually prefers it if the herd is healthy, free to run across the plain and thrive. He is content so long as the herd is always there to give up one of its members when he is hungry. The old Broker was like that. He thought of himself as _managing_ the galaxy. He wanted to keep galactic civilization healthy and whole, so he could continue to live by predation.

When he learned about the Reapers, he knew that here was a predator that even he couldn’t fight, couldn’t evade. But he also learned that when the cycle of extinction begins, the Reapers don’t destroy _all_ life in the galaxy. They don’t disturb living worlds that have not given rise to sentience. They don’t even attack sentient species if they have not yet developed a high-energy civilization. Worlds like that are left alone.

The yahg hoped to ensure that his homeworld, Parnack, would be left alone. He wanted his _species_ to survive the Reapers . . . and come out into the galaxy early in the new cycle, ready to dominate, rule, and prey upon everything else it might find.

Shepard, we _must_ succeed. You and I know our civilization is far from perfect, but at least those who rise up into the galaxy have a chance to find their own destiny, as your people have done. If we lose, then those who come after us may face a grim fate, under an Empire of the Yahg.

My team continues to make progress in reshaping the Broker’s network. We have improved its security considerably, and shut down a number of the more questionable operations. I’ve even begun routing useful intelligence to the Alliance, by way of the channel already in place between T’Soni Analytics and Councilor Anderson.

That reminds me of something. There’s one thing I did not anticipate about being the Broker: the level of _credibility_ that comes with the position. As the Broker, I have informants in the highest levels of every government, but at the same time almost every government is on my customer list. Now when I speak, the most powerful beings in the galaxy _listen_.

Give me ten minutes and I could start a war. In fact, give me ten minutes and I believe I could start any one of at least six different wars. But I have a purpose, and that is to help you fight the Reapers. That keeps me honest. Relatively speaking, at least.

So I’ve gathered up all of the intelligence the old Broker had about the Reapers, and delivered that free of charge to many of my “customers” in the asari, salarian, turian, and human governments. People who would never have given Liara T’Soni a moment’s consideration are now – _finally_ – taking the Reaper hypothesis seriously.

It remains to be seen what they will do about it. Possibly very little. But it’s more than I ever managed on Illium. I also find I have a certain amount of _leverage_ over many of these people, if they continue to be unwilling to take action.

I think within two weeks I will have things in order here, enough that I will be able to leave Hagalaz for a few days. If you and _Normandy_ are still building up resources, remember that Illium has access to some of the best technology in the galaxy, and the Shadow Broker has a _very_ deep bank account there.

Besides, you still owe me a night in Azure. Preferably not involving gunfire. And I’m very glad to hear that you and Miranda are working together well, but I insist that _she is_ _not invited_.

_LIARA_

* * *

**29 August 2185  
** **Dakka System, _en route_ to the mass relay**

_Liara,_

We’ve had something of a breakthrough here. For weeks I’ve had this enormous hole in my team, like a running sore that wouldn’t heal, but finally I think we’ve gotten over it.

I’m talking about Jack, of course.

It would be true, but hopelessly inadequate, to assert that _Jack hates Cerberus_. There is just no discernible bottom to the well of venomous contempt she carries for Cerberus and everyone who belongs to it. She tolerates me because I’ve always been clear on the _with-but-not-part-of_ thing, and because I’ve helped her out of a number of scrapes. She’s okay with most of the non-humans on my team for similar reasons. She gets along reasonably well with Dr. Chakwas and Zaeed Massani. That’s as far as her tolerance goes. The rest of the human crew, she _despises_. She won’t eat in the mess hall with them. She sleeps in a hidey-hole down on the engineering deck to avoid them. She never speaks to any of them unless it’s absolutely necessary, and then she averages one obscenity for every three words.

This has not been good for unit cohesion.

I’ve tolerated it for three reasons. First, Jack is probably the most powerful human biotic in existence. I understand you’ve actually seen her in action, so you know. She’s a _powerhouse_. The only thing she lacks is fine control and some of the more advanced techniques, and she’s been taking lessons in those from Samara. Her biotic skills and mine complement each other, so the two of us together can rip through most adversaries. Her discipline issues do not manifest themselves on the battlefield. Overall she’s very high on my list for any landing party.

Second, Jack deserves a chance. I’m sure you have a dossier on her. I doubt it tells the whole truth. As a child she was physically and psychologically abused, forced to kill for her survival, and subjected to brutally invasive surgery. They strapped a nine-year-old child face-down on a surgical table, opened her entire spine, and inserted experimental biotic implants. _Without anesthetic_. Then they did it again when she was eleven, and again when she was twelve.

Even after Jack escaped from Pragia, her life didn’t suddenly improve. As far as I can tell, no one else has _ever_ looked out for her. She has been beaten, stabbed, shot, raped, starved, tortured. I am frankly amazed that she survived with even part of her sanity intact. So I am going to give her every possible benefit of the doubt. I hope she can learn from my team what it means to have friends, someone she can trust. I hope she can learn what it means to be part of something bigger than the need to survive for one more day.

Third, Jack is a living, breathing example of what Cerberus actually is.

Cerberus stole her from her family. Cerberus set up the facility on Pragia. Every horrible thing that was done to her as a child was due to Cerberus. The Illusive Man denies knowing anything about the worst of it, and the records we found on Pragia seem to corroborate that, but that doesn’t really matter to Jack or to me. The Illusive Man bore responsibility. He _should_ have known. It was his _duty_ to know, and to take action. In any case, it’s no accident that when a Cerberus cell goes rogue, things like Pragia happen. The Illusive Man’s habit of using people as disposable pawns communicates itself down through the organization. His subordinates imitate him. The rot doesn’t come from the bottom ranks; it comes from the very top.

No one on board _Normandy_ has any excuse for thinking that Cerberus is really a benevolent organization, that Cerberus is simply misunderstood. Not when they can see what Cerberus made out of Jack.

So when she asked that we divert to Pragia, so she could visit the Teltin facility and get some closure, I agreed. And when she and I prepared to land on Pragia, I ordered Miranda to come with us.

The visit didn’t go as planned. One of the other survivors of Teltin had come to try to salvage the place, and he had hired a squad of Blood Pack mercenaries for muscle. There was even a krogan battlemaster there to lead the mercs. Tough bastards.

Even so, we saw the whole facility, or what was left of it. We salvaged a lot of data, leftover pieces of technology, journal entries from the Cerberus “scientists,” that sort of thing. Jack told us a lot about what had happened there.

Miranda saw and heard it all.

She was defensive at first. Stiff with resentment. Quick to dismiss everything we saw as the results of a “rogue operation.” But as we worked our way through the facility . . . the more Jack talked, the quieter Miranda became.

Finally we got back to _Normandy_. I think Jack was in the mood to pick a fight. I got a panic call and had to rush down to Miranda’s office, ready to break the two of them up before they killed each other. When I came in, I found Jack hurling some accusation. Also a piece of furniture. For a moment, I could see Miranda getting ready to deliver some wonderfully bitchy and cutting response. But then she just _stopped_. She shook her head, and said simply, “You’re right.”

Jack stood there, still boiling with rage, but not quite boiling _over_.

“What was done at Teltin, to you and those other children . . . there’s no excuse. Nothing justifies it. I can’t do anything about it now, and I don’t expect you to forgive Cerberus for it. I don’t expect you to forgive _me_ for it. But I give you my word, _nothing_ like that will happen again. Not if I’m there to prevent it.”

That sufficed to bring the situation under control. I got them separated, sent Jack to go cool off in her hidey-hole. Miranda seemed cold and remote, but I think that was a defensive mechanism in operation. What she saw today has deeply disturbed her. I can hope that it’s shaken her faith in Cerberus a little further.

Tell the truth, I was _proud_ of Miranda in that moment. Even a few weeks ago she would never have said such a thing to Jack. She has grown a lot in a very short time.

I went to talk to Jack afterward. I think the whole affair has had a positive effect on her. She seems more centered now, not as rage-driven as before. She even admits to feeling a lot better about things.

Of course she also told me, “I still sort of feel like killing everyone I see. No offense.”

We take things one step at a time.

Anyway, I think in a few days I may be able to meet you on Illium, but for now we’re off on another emergency. I mentioned a few days ago that we rescued Tali from a disastrous mission on the galaxy’s rim. It’s good to have her here with us again, and she’s integrated well with the rest of the crew, even the Cerberus personnel. But now we have a message that the quarian authorities are planning to charge her with treason to her people.

I ask you. Tali. _Treason?_

Someone on the quarian Admiralty Board is obviously suffering from a serious case of helmet-up-rectum. Or if they aren’t now, they certainly will be by the time I get finished with them.

_SHEPARD_


	49. One Night in Azure

**_1 September 2185, Hotel Azure, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

_Normandy_ returned to Illium, after several weeks deep in the Terminus Systems. Her arrival caused no end of gossip among the rich and powerful of Nos Astra.

_What’s Commander Shepard up to?_

_Why has he returned to Illium?_

_Did he have anything to do with Liara T’Soni’s sudden disappearance?_

_Is she about to rematerialize as well, or are the rumors of her untimely demise true after all?_

Unfortunately for the gossips, Shepard barely showed his face. When he did, he wore a grim expression and spoke little, yielding no clues. Some of Shepard’s crew visited Nos Astra’s technical emporia. Others consulted with T’Soni Analytics, which appeared prosperous even in the absence of its controversial founder. A few overheard remarks fed the rumors that Shepard remained in seclusion, privately mourning his asari lover.

No one made any connection to the appearance of a human arms dealer named Solomon Gunn, himself just in from the outer Terminus Systems on unspecified business. When Gunn booked an apartment in Azure, and engaged the services of a minor _hetaira_ named Tasya Seratis, no one paid any attention at all. Such incidents occurred hundreds of times every evening in Nos Astra.

Gunn arrived first, a tall, broad-shouldered human male with cold blue eyes and a deeply scarred face. He dressed well, in a stylish evening suit that must have cost thousands of credits. He ordered a light dinner for two and several bottles of expensive wine, to be delivered as soon as his consort arrived, and then vanished into his rented apartment for the evening.

Seratis arrived about half an hour later, a fresh-faced young asari in a revealing evening gown, carrying only a small white purse. She made no arrangements of her own at the front desk, simply gliding into the elevator and finding her own way to Gunn’s apartment.

A few moments after Seratis arrived, the apartment’s windows polarized, cutting off all sight of the interior. They remained that way until late the following morning.

* * *

Shepard emerged from the bedroom as soon as he heard the door cycle. He had removed his suit jacket and necktie, but still wore his white shirt with the top button undone. “Hello, Liara . . .”

He stopped. Stared.

I felt my face color slightly and looked down at the floor, suddenly feeling shy. “Shepard.”

“My. Good. _Lord_ ,” he said reverently.

_Success!_

I had put a great deal of planning into my choice of evening wear.

Two rather narrow, strategically placed strips of white silk left all of my back and most of my front exposed. It was not at all obvious how the silk managed to cling to my skin. The skirt seemed a _little_ more modest, but it hugged my shape closely and had a slit all the way up to my hip on the right side. I had nothing else on underneath, and the whole gown was so sheer that it threatened to vanish under a light rain or a moment’s back-lighting. I had rounded out the ensemble with a brilliant diamond necklace and elbow-length white gloves.

I smiled and walked over to him, taking my time, throwing just a little hip-sway into the movement. The only sound in the room was the _click . . . click . . . click_ of my kitten-heeled sandals on the stone floor.

Shepard continued to look as if he was having a religious experience.

When I arrived I pressed myself close to him, put a hand behind his neck to pull him down, and rose up on tip-toe to capture his lips for a deep kiss. I felt his hands on my back, inhaled his scent, and savored his taste for a long minute.

Finally I broke the kiss, nestled close in the circle of his arms, and gave him my best innocent stare. “What’s for dinner?”

He growled in frustration. “After an entrance like that, T’Soni, you’re damned lucky I don’t put _you_ on the menu.”

“Perhaps I can serve as the dessert course. Shepard, I’m _starving_. The amenities aboard _Themis_ aren’t very extensive, and I haven’t had time to eat a decent meal since I arrived.”

“Your wish is my command. I ordered up some salad and a light seafood dish I seem to recall you like, and a few bottles of a decent white wine.”

That deserved another kiss, although I did my best not to be quite so _inspirational_ that time. “Bless you.”

We sat down, Shepard holding my chair for me in accordance with some ancient human custom. The food tasted wonderful, just as I would have expected from Azure. I noticed that Shepard could hardly keep his eyes away from me as we ate. It didn’t disturb me. After all, I could hardly keep my eyes away from him. I felt pleasant, anticipatory warmth sliding down my spine and glowing in my stomach.

Once the first edge had worn off my hunger, I paused for a moment and reached for my purse, taking out a small flat packet. “I brought you something. It took some digging, but I recovered your tags.”

Shepard took the packet, opened it almost hesitantly. “I never thought I would see these again.”

“Some mercenary took them from the _Normandy_ crash site when . . . when the Blue Suns recovered your body. They changed hands more than once after that. Eventually I helped Admiral Hackett acquire them from a turian collector. He sent them to me, so I could return them to you.” I watched him, worried about the shadows in his eyes. “He sends his best, and hopes you’re okay.”

“Hmm.”

“Shepard, I don’t think he’s trying to influence you. He just wanted you to have them.”

“I know.” He took a deep breath and sipped his wine. “It’s just . . . it feels like forever since I was nothing more than an Alliance soldier. I can barely remember what that life felt like. It’s as if these tags belong to someone else.”

I waited silently, watching him.

“I was a _good_ soldier, Liara. That’s all I ever wanted or expected to be. I wanted to hone my body and my mind. Train my skills. Travel to strange worlds, wherever the Alliance needed me. Follow orders. Win victories. Earn commendations and rank. Retire with honor and respect. That was what my life was supposed to look like.”

“Then Eden Prime happened,” I said softly.

“Yeah. Suddenly I was fighting on a battlefield I never even dreamed existed, as wide as the galaxy and billions of years deep.” He held his tags up, looking at them in the light. For a moment, the expression on his face was so lost and sad, I could feel my heart breaking for him. “One soldier, no matter how good a soldier he may be . . . what can he do against the Reapers?”

I reached out and placed my hand over his, where it rested on the table. “Perhaps everything.”

He held my hand but looked skeptical.

“Shepard, I know you’ve studied history. Sometimes all it takes is one person who _just happens_ to be in the right place, at the right time, to change everything. Yes, it was an accident that placed you on Eden Prime just at that moment. Someone else might have been caught by that Prothean beacon.” I paused in thought for a moment, searching through my own memories and his. “In fact, I suspect someone else _was_. Do you remember a Dr. Manuel Cayce? A scientist who survived the geth attack? Your after-action report mentioned him.”

“Hmm. _Manuel_ . . . I think I do, actually. He seemed unbalanced, as if the attack had unhinged him.”

I shook my head. “The Broker had files on him. It wasn’t the geth that shattered his mind. His rantings make a great deal of sense if we assume the beacon shared its message with him too. He seems to have seen the Reapers. He may even have recognized, somehow, that Saren was working with them.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“So consider this. Many people approached the beacon between the time it was uncovered and the time it was destroyed. It could have selected any of them to receive its message. It _did_ choose Dr. Cayce, but the shock broke his mind. It almost took Ashley, but you managed to pull her away. Then it caught you . . . and it did _not_ break your mind. You had the strength of will to accept its message. Then you had the determination to act upon it, even when the rest of the galaxy failed to recognize its importance. Even when all the great powers of the galaxy tried to prevent you from doing what you knew was necessary, you found a way. You beat Saren and _Sovereign_. That’s the only reason any of us still live and have hope.”

“I had a lot of help. A lot of good luck, too.”

“I know. You are an intelligent, passionate, strong-willed, and very well-trained soldier with a knack for inspiring devotion in others. You _have_ been lucky as well. That makes you exceptional but hardly unique. Still, _it has been enough_.” I squeezed his fingers tightly. “It may be unscientific of me, but I have faith that it will continue to be enough. I believe in you, Shepard.”

He nodded reluctantly, setting the tags down as if he had finally accepted them. “Thank you.”

I smiled and continued to work on my dinner.

“I’ll be honest with you, Liara.” He looked down and toyed with his fork for a moment. “I’m tired. I’m tired of working with Cerberus, having to make nice to that megalomaniac with the cigarettes, always waiting for the knife to appear in my back. I’m tired of the Council ignoring me when I’ve consistently told them the truth, tired of them treating me as a criminal when I saved their lives. I’m tired of _my closest friends_ not believing me, turning their backs on me.”

“Yes. I heard about what Ashley said on Horizon. I’m sorry.”

Suddenly his gaze on me was almost frighteningly intense. “Do you know what keeps me going, despite everything?”

I cocked my head at him and waited.

“You,” he said simply.

I glanced down at what was left of my meal. “I hope I can be equal to that.”

“You do very well.”

“I don’t know, Shepard. I’m afraid I let you down when you first reappeared here on Illium. I was so caught up in my own concerns . . .”

“Liara. I understand all that. Maybe if we were just a simple soldier and his scientist girlfriend, this could be an easy thing. Instead I’m a Spectre in the middle of an undeclared war, and you’re the _Shadow Broker_. It’s a wonder we have _any_ time to just be ourselves and in love.”

“Hmm.” I looked up at him, my eyes wide. “On that note . . . I seem to be finished with my dinner.”

“Do you want some dessert?” he said with a smile.

I gave him a very direct look. “I think you know quite well what I want.”

* * *

It was Azure. _Of course_ the apartment boasted a very fine hot tub.

I stopped in the doorway, leaning against the frame so I could watch while Shepard stripped out of the rest of his evening wear. Suddenly I made a discovery, something I never had the opportunity to learn during our time aboard the old _Normandy_.

I _really_ enjoyed the sight of Shepard, nude and from the rear.

He had an entirely non-asari shape, of course. Broad shoulders, a torso that tapered cleanly down to narrow hips, lines and masses speaking of tremendous leashed power.

_And I think Aethyta would call that “an ass so tight you could bounce a credit chit off of it.”_

I shook my head, not wanting to be reminded of my father just then. Instead I savored the sight of an exceptionally athletic and healthy human. He seemed alien, in some ways very ugly, in other ways very beautiful, in every way familiar and beloved.

He stepped carefully down into the tub, lowering himself into the roiling water until nothing showed below his chest and shoulders. I sighed.

“Plan to join me, T’Soni?”

“I was just waiting until I had your undivided attention.”

I toed my sandals off, stripped my gloves down my arms to fall forgotten to the floor, and set the diamond necklace carefully aside. Then another design feature of my gown manifested itself. One tiny flare of biotic power, then another, and the whole thing came apart in a whisper of silk. Shepard’s eyes went wide in sudden appreciation. I stepped out of a puddle of cloth and down into the hot tub. Soon we both sat neck-deep in the water, nestled close in each other’s arms.

I kept a hand free to go exploring. “Mmm. Cerberus certainly did a good job.”

“All components present and in good working order,” he agreed.

Suddenly an image flashed through my mind, and I shuddered in horror. My hand withdrew from his body, trembling a little.

“What’s the matter?”

“Sorry.” I wrestled myself back into control. “Just a very bad memory.”

“What was it?”

I looked up into his eyes, saw concern there, and wondered if I had gone pale. “After Garrus and I recovered your remains . . . I had to know, Shepard. I had to look. It was _horrible_. I’ve never been able to forget it.”

He held me close.

“Goddess,” I whispered after a time. “You were _dead_.”

“I got better.”

“This time . . . but you’re going to leave again. Soon you’ll lead your team through the Omega-4 relay, and who knows whether any of you will ever come back.”

“That’s war, Liara.”

“I know.” I sighed deeply, huddled as close to him as I could, enjoying the warmth of the water and the strength in his arms. “I wish there was some way to know that you would always come back to me.”

“I don’t know,” he said teasingly. “That’s a pretty big promise to make.”

“Oh. _Is_ it?”

“I’d have to have something special to come back to,” he murmured, close by my cheek.

“I’m . . . open to suggestions.”

He made one. Then another.

Soon he held me braced against the side of the tub, working on me with his hands and lips and teeth. My skin tingled everywhere he touched it, setting off little flares of blue energy, _both_ of our biotic coronas surging together. My eyes went black, as I drowned in sensation. Soon I felt my mind pulling at him, felt my breath and heartbeat falling into synchrony with his. I turned away from him, opening my legs and arching my back in invitation.

“ _Embrace eternity,_ ” I gasped at the last moment.

Our bodies merged, and then our minds.

* * *

Later we stretched out together on the big bed, naked and bonelessly relaxed, waiting for passion to strike again. Nothing illuminated the room but the holographic display on one wall, set to imitate a distant seashore under silver moonlight. We heard nothing but waves gently rushing across sand. The air system gave us a light, cool, faintly scented breeze. I pressed the whole length of my body close to his, resting my head on his shoulder, cuddling into the circle of one of his arms. I felt warm and cherished.

“Shepard?”

“Mmm?”

“Tell me something.” I ran my free hand across his chest and belly, not aggressively, just enjoying the feel of his skin. “What is it you most want for us? If this conflict comes to an end and we manage to survive . . . if we beat the Collectors, beat the Reapers . . . what comes next for us?”

“I don’t know,” he said lazily. “Marriage, old age, lots of little blue children?”

I froze.

_Oh Goddess._

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing.” I levered myself up on one elbow so I could look down into his face. “You want to marry me?”

“Yes.” He caressed my cheek. “I don’t know how long we have. I don’t care. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Oh Shepard.” I leaned down to give him a tender kiss. “Assuming I agree, how would you want it done? Do you want a Christian ceremony?”

“No need for that. I don’t have any family who would want to be there, but you do. It can be an asari bonding. Alliance law would recognize that as a marriage anyway.”

“All right.” I rested my head on his shoulder again, smiling at the thought. “We could do it here on Illium, perhaps. Or on Thessia, at the T’Soni estate. All our friends there to wish us well. We would have to wait until Liara T’Soni turned up alive once more, of course.”

“One more good reason for me to want the ties to Cerberus cut, once and for all,” he murmured.

“Yes.” I took a deep breath, wrapping my free arm around him tightly. “But there’s something we should discuss first. Shepard . . . are children important to you?”

“Why?”

“It’s only that I’m very young. Haven’t you ever wondered why young asari are called _maidens?_ ”

“Hmm. I suppose it can’t be because you’re unable to have sex. For which I am _quite_ thankful.”

“No. It’s because our reproductive systems have not yet fully matured.” I felt tense, as if readying for a blow. “Any adult asari can enjoy sexual relations, both physical lovemaking and the melding of minds . . . but she . . . she can’t conceive children of her own until she reaches the matron stage. Usually that is sometime in her fourth century.”

“I thought an asari who melded often could come into the matron stage early,” he said.

I didn’t hear any strain in his voice, no sign of disappointment, only a detached curiosity. I relaxed slightly.

“Yes. An asari who is well-loved and emotionally cherished, who has a frequent and happy sex life, she might make the transition as much as fifty or sixty years before the usual time. Close to the end of her third century, perhaps.” I rose up to look into his face again. “Shepard, I’m only a hundred and eight. I can’t expect to have children of my own body for centuries yet.”

He _smiled_ at me. “Well. It certainly won’t be for lack of trying.”

“Oh Shepard. It truly doesn’t matter to you?”

“It matters a little,” he admitted. “I lost my entire family when I was still a young man. I suppose I’ve always thought about redressing that loss by becoming a father, raising children of my own. But what’s important to me is that you and I face whatever life has in store together. If that means I can give you children, that’s wonderful. If not, then we can share other things.”

I laid my head down on his shoulder again and held him tightly. A few moments later, I realized I was dripping tears on his chest.

“Besides, there are a few things you’re not considering,” he went on. “There’s no reason we couldn’t _adopt_ children, is there?”

I felt hope, like a sudden sunrise. “I hadn’t even thought of that. Of course we could . . . although they would probably have to be human children. It’s rare for asari children to become available for adoption, and the agencies which oversee fostering prefer to place them with mature matrons.”

“So there’s that for the short term. In the long term, human medical technology keeps advancing. Human life expectancy is half again what it was a century ago, and it’s still getting longer. Then think about all the engineering Cerberus did to rebuild me. Not even Miranda is willing to guess how long I might live naturally. If I survive the Reapers . . . I might live long enough to see you reach your matron stage.” He grinned. “Especially if I’m doing my best to make sure you get there as early as possible.”

I snorted in amusement. “I concede the point.”

“Then . . . Liara T’Soni, will you marry me?”

“Yes. As soon as we can manage.”

“Good.”

I held him close, sliding a leg up so that his hips were pinned under my thigh. I realized that for the first time in years, I was happy.

* * *

“ _Shepard_.”

He made a non-verbal response. In any case, he was too busy kissing one of my breasts to articulate anything.

“ _I am yours_.”

* * *

Eventually, far into the night, we slept.

* * *

The fresh-faced young _hetaira_ took leave of her client, accepting the traditional embrace and three kisses with practiced grace. Then she turned away and vanished into the crowds already beginning to throng in the Nos Astra streets. The human arms merchant left in turn a short time later.

No one connected these events to the departure of _Themis_ a few hours later, bound for the deep Terminus Systems. Or to the departure of _Normandy_ , bound for the Citadel.

The galaxy’s champion and the Shadow Broker went on their separate ways . . . to the endgame.


	50. Networks

**_Early September 2185, Shadow Broker Vessel/Hagalaz_ **

After visiting Illium, it seemed very difficult to return to the _dungeon_ , the grim metal walls and sterile corridors of the Shadow Broker’s ship. Fifteen minutes after debarking from _Themis,_ I returned to the task of decentralizing my organization, placing it on a more resilient footing so I wouldn’t have to remain in the yahg’s lair forever.

Buried in the intricacies of network design, I startled somewhat when the outer door of the operations center opened and someone came through. I knew Feron was back in his room, resting after a long day’s work. I expected no one else who had access to the operations center.

I wasn’t _afraid_ , exactly. I knew only those I could implicitly trust had access to this space . . . but something still made me a little apprehensive.

I looked down from the console where I worked, up on the second tier of the operations center. There on the floor stood a single person: slender, petite, and asari.

“Vara. What are you doing here?”

She watched me with those smoky silver eyes, calm and relentless. “Obeying my oaths, _despoina_ _.”_

“I thought I sent you back to Illium.”

 _“Despoina,_ my place is at your side. Besides, you can’t deny that you and Feron need me here. Aspasia can find someone else to lead the Collections department back home.”

I reached the floor and stood before my acolyte, my friend, my would-be lover. “Vara . . .”

 _“Do not say it,_ Liara T’Soni.” She braced her shoulders and gave me a sharp stare, warning me that she refused to be pushed. “I am your acolyte until the day I die. Nothing is going to change that.”

“Not even the fact that I intend to bond with Shepard?”

“Most especially not that,” she said flatly, using the ancient, formal asari dialect in which she had taken her oaths. _“Despoina._ I have met your human and I have the utmost respect for him. I see that he is your match and fully deserves you. I see that he makes you happy. I am not a human or a turian, to think of you as my _possession_ , to begrudge you the destiny that is so clearly marked out for you. _I am asari_ _, and I am content.”_

I nodded slowly and responded in the same dialect. “All honor to you then, _therapōn_. Should I live to be a thousand years old, should I one day become a Matriarch with ten thousand acolytes, still you will be the first. You will always be the first.”

“As I should be.” She smiled and cocked her head at me, dropping back into everyday speech. “Besides, I’ve discovered something very interesting, while you were away renewing your _eros_. I could hardly leave without bringing it to your attention.”

“What is it?”

“A new set of files from the yahg’s archives,” said Vara. “Data associated with the so-called Lazarus Project mounted by Cerberus, but not with the mechanisms of Shepard’s revival. Instead they have to do with his ship. The new _Normandy_.”

I found myself fiddling with my crest with one hand while I thought about that. “Show me.”

* * *

Vara’s discovery led me to several days of intensive work.

I found so much I had not known, never even suspected, while Shepard and I fought our war against Saren.

Officially, the original _Normandy_ was an Alliance project, an example of collaboration with the turians. In _some_ ways the official story had told the truth. Human and turian engineers did design the ship, building it in an Alliance shipyard. It had flown under human registration, as a frigate in the Alliance Navy.

Yet from the very beginning, the project had been driven by Cerberus.

The original concept belonged to the Illusive Man, who hoped to steal advanced turian technology and acquire new capabilities for humanity. Cerberus sympathizers in the Alliance Navy advocated for the project, driving it forward even against the skepticism of other human officials. Cerberus-owned front companies, notably Cord-Hislop Aerospace, received contracts to do much of the construction work. Cerberus acquired the entire design, including all the advanced turian technology integrated into it.

No wonder they had been able to build a new and improved _Normandy,_ for the resurrected Shepard to command.

An intuition led me to look into operational files left by the old Broker. The yahg had been very interested in _Normandy_ , it turned out. He acquired the same designs and technological specifications from his informants inside Cerberus . . .

Sure enough, I discovered that the Shadow Broker had an ongoing relationship with a consortium of volus ship-building magnates on Talis Fia. Construction of a squadron of stealth frigates, built on the model of the original _Normandy_ _,_ was already under way. The first of the new ships was nearly ready for its acceptance cruise, awaiting only the Shadow Broker’s final authorization. The other four would be close behind.

The new Shadow Broker checked her current balances with the volus bankers, shook her head in wonder, and immediately issued the necessary authorization. She also sent an order to her engineering department, asking them to evaluate how quickly the new stealth frigates could be refitted to serve as major nodes in the Broker network.

I found myself in the grip of a new vision. What if I decentralized the network, not to a set of fixed ground installations, but to mobile platforms that could also serve as command or infiltration ships? If and when the Reapers came, my organization might be more survivable if its critical nodes were out in space, able to go where they were most needed without being easily tracked.

* * *

After my return from Illium, Feron and Vara usually shared the evening meal with me. It seemed like a good time for us to compare notes and make plans. It also served as a hedge against loneliness and isolation for all of us, cut off by necessity from the dozens of crew elsewhere aboard the Broker’s ship.

“Goddess,” I remarked one evening. “I’m in command of a whole _fleet_.”

“Maybe we should start addressing you as _Admiral T’Soni_ _,”_ suggested Feron.

“Don’t even joke about it.” I counted on my fingers. “I own _Themis_ and _Benezia_ personally. That’s two armed corvettes. So far I’ve located five other ships, most of them corvette size, assigned to the Shadow Broker’s leading operatives. Now, within a couple of months we’re going to have five _frigates_ at our disposal, all of them advanced stealth ships. Where am I going to find crew for them all, and who can I trust to command them?”

“Crew shouldn’t be a problem,” said Vara. “Quintus and I have cleaned up the Broker’s personnel system, so we can hire as many as we need.”

I looked at my two friends. “Would either of you be willing to take command of one of the new frigates?”

Feron frowned. “I’ve got plenty of ship-handling experience, but my old _Plain Dealer_ was tiny in comparison to these _Normandy_ -class ships. I’ve never commanded a crew that large either.”

I considered the drell carefully. “Feron, I think you have natural aptitude for a command like that, if you will work to develop it. I’ll need captains I can trust in those positions. Start studying the ship specifications and put together some recommendations for a crew roster.”

He took a deep breath. “Aye-aye, Admiral.”

I glared at him, but declined to make an issue of it.

“Asari huntress training doesn’t give you much about commanding a starship,” said Vara. “I don’t think this is within my core competencies. But I know someone who _would_ be well suited.”

I nodded. “Quintus. He was an officer in the turian navy before he came to work for T’Soni Analytics.”

“Yes.” She sat back, sipping her wine while deep in thought. “I know where we could find some other experienced captains as well, although it would have to be handled carefully.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“What about Matriarch Pytho and the Illium Defense Force?” she suggested. “Offer her an alliance as the Shadow Broker, and she would leap at the chance to provide sharp, well-trained asari officers for some of these ships.”

“She owes Liara T’Soni a favor or two as well,” I said, nodding slowly. “If I can come out of hiding in the next few weeks, that should give us enough time to speak to her before all five frigates are ready to go online.”

“What about Tazzik?” asked Feron quietly.

I stared at the drell. “That’s about the last recommendation I would have expected from you.”

“I don’t have to like him to recognize that he’s one of the best agents we have. He has plenty of experience in small-starship command as well. Talk to him as the Broker. He’ll think of it as a promotion and do a good job of it.” A slow smile spread across his face. “Of course, if I’m taking one of the new frigates as well, he’ll have to deal with the fact that I’m one of his _colleagues_. I’ll enjoy seeing the expression on his face when he figures that one out.”

* * *

Over the next few days, I made an intensive study of the files on Shepard’s current ship, the new _Normandy_. I specifically examined the files covering the monitoring systems on board. These systems were extensive, and they were _not_ designed for the convenience of the ship’s nominal commander.

Cameras, bugs, and other monitoring devices existed in almost every compartment. The only important space _not_ covered was the drive core. I couldn’t tell if that was an oversight or a deliberate omission. Certainly the drive core’s electrical emissions might interfere with delicate monitoring devices. Every other compartment, including every crewman’s “private” space, existed as an open book to Cerberus.

I felt enough revulsion at the bugs. The crew-compliance systems were far worse. Every compartment could be sealed off from the rest of the ship at any time, then either flooded with anesthetic gas or vented to vacuum. The entire ship served as a potential death-trap, ready to close on any strangers who boarded the vessel . . . or any of the crew who might decide to reconsider their loyalties to Cerberus.

_How can anyone live aboard that vessel, knowing they are being watched at every moment?_

I suspected most of the Cerberus crew simply didn’t know about the omnipresent monitors and compliance systems. Or if they suspected, they did their best to turn a blind eye. Some of the crew knew, of course. Shepard had found the devices, knew that he was their primary subject of interest, and did his best to ignore their presence. Tali had spotted the bugs within minutes of coming aboard. Mordin Solus had been playing a game for weeks, disabling the monitors in his lab, and seeing how long it took the Cerberus crew to hide replacements.

Miranda Lawson, of course, had local control of the entire system. To Cerberus, _she_ was the ship’s true commanding officer, the one person who could override even Shepard’s wishes at any moment.

On the other hand, that meant Miranda was the one person on board in a position to freely re-evaluate _her own_ loyalties.

On the third hand, Miranda didn’t possess the only key to _Normandy_. Even she had to deal with the Enhanced Defense Intelligence. _EDI_.

All the monitors, all the crew-compliance devices, all of Shepard’s invisible shackles routed through EDI. Miranda couldn’t monitor every channel, every moment of the day, but EDI could. Within certain well-defined parameters, EDI could move on her own to secure _Normandy_ and its crew for Cerberus. I had no information as to what those parameters might be, but I suspected the Illusive Man had programmed EDI to act if Miranda herself ever showed signs of disaffection.

Meanwhile, even if Miranda and EDI somehow both failed to retain control of the Lazarus Project, Cerberus had one more fail-safe in reserve. All of _Normandy_ ’s onboard monitors also copied their readings and results through Cerberus interstellar channels. Even if Shepard managed to circumvent both Miranda and EDI, the Illusive Man could still seize control of the ship from anywhere in the galaxy, dealing with its crew as he pleased.

Miranda. EDI. The Cerberus network. Before Shepard could be free of Cerberus, all three had to be pried out of the Illusive Man’s control.

Shepard was working on Miranda himself, with some covert assistance from me. I knew Shepard’s capabilities, and in my mind I had a good model of Miranda’s behavior. I estimated she felt almost ready to withdraw her loyalty from Cerberus. One more solid push, from Shepard or even from the Illusive Man himself, and Miranda would be ready to declare herself a free agent.

EDI was an enigma.

To my astonishment, I learned that I had encountered the AI before. Its first instantiation had been the governing VI at an Alliance training facility on Earth’s moon. Cerberus interference had “awakened” the system into full-fledged AI status, at which point it had gone rogue and started killing human soldiers participating in a live-fire exercise. Shepard had led a team to fight through the AI’s drones and take the system down.

I had been there. In fact, I had been badly injured in that battle, when a moment’s inattention permitted a rocket drone to get past my barriers.

Cerberus operatives had recovered the core of the rogue AI. Together with hardware and software recovered from the wreck of _Sovereign_ , they rebuilt and retrained the “Hannibal” system. As EDI, the AI now managed the new _Normandy_ ’s electronic warfare and cyberwarfare systems.

 _What reckless fools_. _To take an AI that’s already proven itself to be murderous, and deliberately rebuild it **with Reaper components**._

Yet, for once, a radically dangerous Cerberus experiment seemed to have worked out. EDI showed no signs of rogue intent, had been an invaluable partner for Shepard’s mission. Shepard would probably not have escaped the Collectors, on Horizon or aboard the “derelict” Collector ship, without EDI’s help.

Even so, EDI was programmed to monitor _Normandy_ ’s crew with a constant invasiveness that made my skin crawl. This did not appear to fall under what passed for its free will. Even after many hours of intensive study, I still saw no way to change EDI’s programming, or “convince” it to turn against Cerberus.

 _Table that_. _What about the Cerberus network itself?_

* * *

Penetrating the Cerberus interstellar channels took a great deal of work. Fortunately the yahg had penetrated far more deeply into Cerberus than the Illusive Man ever realized. David Wilson had been only one of the Broker’s assets in positions of trust within Cerberus . . . and he had been far from the most significant.

I had inherited three deep-cover informants in a position to grant us limited access to Cerberus communications. After a while, I pulled Feron and Vara in, and assigned a whole section of the Broker’s analytic staff to study the network and its configuration. Three intense days later, we had a model to work from.

“Five critical nodes,” I announced, after an analytic run finished.

Feron, Vara, and I stood on the operations center floor, a vast diagram projected in the air between us. Vara had her omni-tool open, copying data from our mainframes into the diagram.

“All of them in star systems with primary mass relays,” she said at last. As she manipulated her controls, a galaxy map sprang into existence to one side of the network diagram. Nodes in the diagram lit up and matched colors with points of light on the map. “Probably for close access to the galactic comm buoy grid.”

_Sol. Utopia. Pax. Antaeus. Balor._

“This is a problem,” I observed. “We can’t reach some of these, they’re in settled human systems. The one in Sol system is under a major city on Earth. Not a place where the Shadow Broker’s troops can just drop in and start blowing things up.”

“The Broker wasn’t shy about doing something like that on Illium,” Vara pointed out.

“That was a different Broker. Besides, look how it turned out for _him_. We can’t afford to commit an act of war against the Alliance.”

“Maybe we don’t have to hit all five,” said Feron. “The monitoring channel from _Normandy_ is always routed through one of the five major nodes, depending on where the ship is at the time. If we can take the right node offline . . . and Shepard knows when we do it, and he can somehow neutralize Operative Lawson and the AI at the same time . . .”

Vara shook her head in frustration. “Even assuming he can do all that, how do we coordinate it with him?”

“But if we _can_ coordinate it, then Shepard can yank out all of the monitors and crew-compliance systems before Cerberus can rebuild their network connection to _Normandy_. At which point he’s free. The Illusive Man won’t be able to do anything about it.”

“Could we get help?” suggested Vara. “Coordinate our attacks with allies. Take the _entire_ Cerberus network down. Then Shepard can act freely even if Lawson and the AI aren’t out of the picture.”

“No,” I said. “The only ones who can act on Earth or near Eden Prime would be the Alliance, and the Alliance has been compromised by Cerberus. The other three . . . maybe.”

Feron pointed into the diagram. “I think Balor is our best bet. That’s out in the Terminus Systems, and as long as _Normandy_ is operating against the Collectors, it’s the node carrying most of the monitoring traffic.”

“We still have the problem of coordinating the attack.” I pondered for a moment. “All right. Both of you, put together a quick-response plan to attack, capture, and then destroy the Balor node. If the opportunity arises, I want to jump on it as quickly as we can.”

They nodded, and went to get started. The network diagram and galaxy map remained in the air behind them, until I gave up on forcing new insights to rise up out of my subconscious mind and dismissed the holograms entirely.

* * *

Before I retired for the night, I walked back to the communications stage and tapped into the Broker’s own surveillance networks.

_There’s an irony here. I recoil in horror from the Cerberus monitors aboard Shepard’s ship, while as the Broker I have access to surveillance systems in critical locations all over the galaxy._

Ever since I discovered the systems, I had tried to use them only sparingly. In fact, I had debated dismantling them entirely. Yet the temptation, the temptation . . . To look in on Shepard aboard _Normandy_. To look in on Aspasia or my other friends back on Illium. To spy on Councilor Tevos or any of the other great powers. To spy on my enemies, up to and including the Illusive Man himself. It was a godlike sensation. Too much power for any one person to hold.

I called up a video I had seen before, one that had been disturbing my sleep.

Aethyta sat alone in the _Eternity_ lounge after closing time, nursing a drink. Despair and depression showed in every line of her body and face. While she drank in silence, she stared at an image on the table before her. My image, smiling. Probably taken with a concealed camera, on one of my visits to the lounge. Taken before I had discovered who Aethyta really was to me. Taken before I had suddenly stopped visiting her bar, and then – so far as most people on Illium knew – had gone off to die.

I still felt furious with Aethyta. Not because she had been spying on me, for Goddess alone knew what reason. I couldn’t be honestly angry with anyone for that, especially now that I was the Shadow Broker and had all of this unnatural power at my own fingertips. No, I felt angry because she had known I was her daughter, she _had_ to have known, and yet she said nothing. She had pretended to be my friend, and the whole time it had been nothing but a vicious lie.

Yet she looked so sad, sitting there alone, and I had a hard time staying angry while I watched her.

For the seventeenth time, I almost placed a call to Illium, to speak to her.

For the seventeenth time, I closed down the communications stage and walked away instead.

 _She can’t know_. _Not yet. You don’t know why she was watching you. You don’t know who might be behind her. Maybe once Shepard is free, and Liara T’Soni can walk openly on Illium again. Maybe then you can talk to your father._

I knew it was the right call. It still left my gut tied up in knots.


	51. Call to Arms

**14 September 2185  
Sahrabarik System, _en route_ to the mass relay**

_Dr. T’Soni,_

Morinth is dead.

I hope you would forgive me if I chose to leave it at that. You are aware, I think, that Morinth meant more to me than simply an _ardat-yakshi_ fugitive who had to be brought to justice. Yet the Code is all that remains of my life, and duty demands that I give you a fuller report of what has happened.

I tracked her to Omega. Shepard saw fit to travel there so that I could deal with her at last. More, he insisted on aiding me in my quest. I suspect the memories you shared with him on your last meeting, including those of your own encounter with Morinth, played a part in motivating him. Cold anger filled his voice when he spoke of her, as if he had himself survived her attack. He went with me to speak with Aria T’Loak. He helped me interview the mother of one of Morinth’s victims here. He set himself out as bait, going alone into her favored hunting ground to lure her out of the shadows.

She took the bait.

I watched from a distance as she moved toward him, as she tasted of his _areté_ , as she began to manipulate him into becoming her willing prey. He followed her back to her apartment, playing the part of a victim like so many others.

Yet when she exerted all her force of will, summoned him to mate with her and die . . . he _refused_.

Dr. T’Soni, it has been over two centuries since I know of anyone capable of refusing Morinth. I do not belittle your own strength of will when I remind you that she had little difficulty reaching your mind, at least at first. She had great strength and centuries of practice in hunting her prey.

Yet Shepard refused her, and that gave me an advantage. When I arrived, I found him unharmed and Morinth utterly confused. If she had an escape route, she was off-balance and unprepared to use it. She tried to manipulate me. She even tried to persuade Shepard to intervene on her behalf. She fought back, her biotics as strong as those of any Matriarch. All to no avail. I sent her to the peace of the Goddess. Finally, after four hundred years of flight, she can harm no one any longer.

I trust this gives you some peace. I also congratulate you, Doctor. The lover you have chosen for yourself is a remarkable individual. I might almost wish I had met someone like him in my own matron days. So much might have been different.

Be well. I wish you success in all your endeavors.

_SAMARA_

* * *

**_16 September 2185, Shadow Broker Vessel/Hagalaz_ **

I stood on the communication stage in the Broker’s inner sanctum, the lights on all sides dimmed, waiting for my cue.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” said Aspasia’s voice.

“Your sudden request rather surprised me,” said another asari, her voice calm but rough with age: Matriarch Pytho. “For some time your firm’s relationship with the Illium Defense Force has been mutually profitable, but routine. We have felt little need for high-level consultation. Has some radical change occurred in the situation?”

“Yes, Matriarch,” said Aspasia.

“Proceed, then.”

“Another major player in galactic politics has asked T’Soni Analytics to serve as an intermediary on its behalf. Our principal wishes to reach an accord with the IDF, in support of Illium’s defense against the Reapers.”

“Who is your principal?”

“The Shadow Broker.”

Silence followed, for a long moment.

“Interesting,” said Pytho at last. “You certainly have my attention.”

“Thank you. I am prepared to make introductions.”

I heard a sharp noise: the Matriarch scoffing. “No one is _introduced_ to the Shadow Broker.”

“The Broker is prepared to make an exception in this case.”

“I assume you can prove to me that this is not an elaborate deception.”

“This communications device is linked to the Broker’s network. I invite you to scan it. You will find that it uses protocols consistent with other information you have received from the Broker in the past.”

A few moments passed in silence. “So it seems. Very well. I will admit to a _great deal_ of curiosity.”

“Thank you, Matriarch. One moment.”

A light flipped from yellow to blue on the console before me. Lasers placed at the edge of the communications stage performed a surface scan, preparing to transmit my image thousands of light-years to Illium. I stood tall and braced my shoulders.

All around me, Matriarch Pytho’s inner sanctum snapped into existence. I recognized the space, stark and austere, most of it in darkness, only a single spotlight shining down on the master desk from above. Aspasia stood just behind me and to my left; the Matriarch sat at her desk a short distance in front of me. I knew my image shone brightly in the dark space, the small holographic-projection drone apparently embedded just between my breasts.

“Good day, Matriarch,” I said calmly.

I may have been the first person in many years to see Matriarch Pytho at a loss for words. Her eyes went wide with surprise . . . but only for a few seconds. Then they narrowed, and I could see her mind racing down chains of logical deduction. Finally she nodded in satisfaction. “Dr. T’Soni. I am pleased to see that the rumors of your death were premature. Do I understand that you now claim to be the Shadow Broker?”

“I do not _claim_ , Matriarch. The Shadow Broker’s network and resources exist under my control. You are now one of a very small set of individuals aware of that fact.”

 _“Fascinating._ I find myself believing you, if only because it would be foolish in the extreme to make such an assertion were it not true.”

“You may recall that the Shadow Broker sent you an unsolicited package regarding the Reapers, and their agents the Collectors, several weeks ago.”

“Yes. At the time I thought it something of a departure for the Broker.”

“My predecessor’s strategic goals were different from mine.”

“No doubt.” Pytho leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers and watching my image closely. “Your associate mentioned _an accord._ _”_

“You already subscribe to several T’Soni Analytics product lines. Now that the firm has complete access to the Shadow Broker’s network, we can greatly increase the volume of actionable intelligence delivered to the IDF.”

“A worthwhile offer. What else?”

“I find that I have need of a number of experienced starship officers and crew. My predecessor was in the process of building several new ships based on an advanced turian-human design. I have inherited those ships, but I don’t want to rely on my predecessor’s usual sources for new personnel.”

Pytho made a wintry smile. “I can certainly understand that. You wish to hire IDF personnel?”

“At very competitive rates,” I said. “Not to mention that the technology built into these ships would be made available to the IDF for future construction.”

“Am I to understand that these ships are of the _Normandy_ class?”

“They are, Matriarch.”

“A _very generous_ offer. I am certain we can come to an agreement.”

I took a deep breath. “There is one more item, Matriarch. Since my . . . _ascension_ , I find I can no longer afford to restrict my attention to Illium and asari space. My field of operations is now galaxy-wide. Yet I still maintain responsibility for T’Soni Analytics and my friends here. I must see to their safety, even should the worst come to pass and the Reapers arrive.”

Pytho nodded slowly, but said nothing.

“I would request that our Illium personnel and facilities be placed at the top of your force-protection list. That must include evacuation, if it should come to that.”

“Do you believe the Reapers are that close at hand?” she asked quietly.

“I cannot prove it, Matriarch.” I tilted my head back and held her gaze. “Still, my predecessor uncovered information about them I had never seen before. Yes, I believe we have very little time left.”

She sat still, watching me and considering for a long time. Then she gave me a decisive nod. “I agree. I assume that young Aspasia will be your agent in these matters?”

I glanced at Aspasia.

“I am prepared,” she said.

“Very good,” said the Matriarch. “I will work with you to draft a memorandum of understanding covering all we have discussed. I believe I can find a number of officers and crewmen who will be eager to serve aboard your ships.”

I made a slight bow of thanks, and sent a file to the Matriarch from my omni-tool. “Here are my immediate requirements. If you will send personnel profiles through Aspasia, we will make our selections as soon as possible.”

“Of course,” said Pytho, examining the file closely. “Where and when should the selected personnel report for duty?”

“The first ship to complete its acceptance cruise will be _Cannae_ , under the command of Quintus Trevanian. I hope to have the _Cannae_ in service by 22 September. All personnel should be prepared to report to the Kardann orbital facility on Talis Fia by then.”

“It would be useful if our people could have technical specifications and manuals to study, before they report for duty,” the Matriarch suggested.

“Already seen to,” said Aspasia. “We have all the relevant data ready to transfer to you as soon as the MOU is signed.”

“It is a pleasure to work with asari who understand how to get the job done,” observed Pytho. “Good luck, Dr. T’Soni.”

“Good luck to us all, Matriarch.”

* * *

**23 September 2185  
The Sea of Storms**

_Liara,_

I think it’s time.

A few days ago the Illusive Man directed us to visit the work site of a Cerberus science team, led by a Dr. Mahinda Chandana. You may remember him. I seem to recall he attended the Serrice Conference.

The Cerberus team was working _on board a derelict Reaper_ , millions of years old, apparently killed by some ancient civilization but still adrift in the upper atmosphere of a brown-dwarf star. Apparently they recovered a working example of Reaper IFF technology, just what we need to traverse the Omega-4 Relay. Then they went silent. Cerberus wanted us to investigate.

After our last critical mission from the Illusive Man, I was suspicious as hell. He claimed he wasn’t holding anything back this time. He didn’t know why Chandana’s team had dropped off the grid. Eventually I was willing to be persuaded.

We found out why the Cerberus team had gone silent, all right. It turned out the Reaper wasn’t quite as dead as everyone believed. Its technology remained active enough to indoctrinate the entire Cerberus team, just like those ExoGeni researchers we saw years ago on Trebin.

We didn’t find a single living soul aboard the dead Reaper. We _did_ find whole platoons of husks, including the exploding kind and the ones set up like artillery pieces. The biggest excitement came when we had to deal with _three_ of the artillery-husks at once, positioned to catch us in a crossfire. Fortunately I saw the problem quickly enough to pull everyone back, out of the crossfire and into cover. Nasty fight, slow and exhausting, though without any Collectors to direct the husks they didn’t work very intelligently. There were just an awful _lot_ of them.

We ended up in one of the most vicious fighting retreats I’ve ever had to lead . . . but we recovered the IFF technology.

We also recovered something else. Liara, that’s an item we need to discuss in person. I trust your security, but it’s much too sensitive to be sending across the extranet. Don’t worry, it’s a _positive_ development. You would hardly _believe_ how positive. But it will have to wait until we can see each other again.

That brings me to a request. Now that we have the Reaper IFF, we need a safe place to examine it, test it for bugs and trapdoors, and integrate it into _Normandy_ ’s systems. Somewhere secure, out of sight of the galaxy’s big players, off the beaten track so that if there _are_ any surprises in the Reaper technology we won’t be putting a major world at risk. Do you think the Shadow Broker can find a place that fits those requirements?

Let me know. Then I hope you’ll consider coming to see us there. We need to plan, because I think almost everything is finally in place. Just about the only item left on the agenda is the one that reads “call the wrath of God down on the Collectors.”

_SHEPARD_

* * *

**24 September 2185  
Hagalaz**

_Shepard,_

I concur.

For a meeting place I propose Terapso, in the Sigurd’s Cradle cluster. It fits all of your criteria, it is conveniently located to reach the Omega-4 relay, and whether they realize it or not the local authorities owe me a few favors. I can be there in three standard days.

Goddess watch over all of us.

_LIARA_

* * *

**_25 September 2185, Hagalaz_ **

My first glimpse of _Cannae_ came from the co-pilot’s seat of a shuttle, rising out of the atmosphere into low orbit around Hagalaz. Sunlight gleamed off the ship’s hull, highlighting the name embossed on its flank. The naval architects had used Citadel Standard script rather than the human _Latin_ alphabet, but that was the only jarring note. Otherwise the ship looked identical to the original _Normandy_ , graceful in black and silver against the stars.

I felt a pang of nostalgia.

_To think I might fly aboard a ship like that once again . . . but no. Shepard isn’t going to be in command. He won’t even be aboard. It’s not the same._

Vara brought us through the great hatch into _Cannae_ ’s evacuated staging deck. We shut down the shuttle’s controls and emerged onto the staging deck as soon as it was safe.

“Dr. T’Soni. Vara.” Quintus greeted us in his new naval uniform, all black and silver with the Shadow Broker’s triangular insignia in blue on his left breast. “Welcome aboard.”

“Commander Trevanian.” I smiled at him. “Your new position seems to suit you.”

“It’s good to use some of the old skills,” he admitted. “Although I never expected to command. I appreciate the trust you’ve placed in me.”

“Quintus, you have never once given me reason to invest anything less than my _complete_ trust in you. You deserve this opportunity.”

He bowed slightly, his mandibles flaring in a pleased turian smile. “May I show you the ship? We’re all very proud of him. The volus shipbuilders exceeded themselves.”

He took us on a tour, pointing out the ship’s features as if I had never seen a _Normandy_ -class vessel before. I did see a few minor changes in design and implementation, many of them improvements based on Shepard’s own after-action reports during the war against Saren. Several of the upgrades Shepard had implemented on the new _Normandy_ had also been built into _Cannae_ – better armor, stronger kinetic barriers, and more powerful guns.

The greatest change came to the rear of the command deck. Where the original _Normandy_ had a simple conference room, _Cannae_ had a large information center, with extensive banks of communications and data-processing equipment. Here I saw the first new command node for the Shadow Broker network. As a nerve center, it could cover over one-third of the galaxy at its greatest capacity. In theory at least, it provided a place where I could function indefinitely as the Shadow Broker, no matter where in the galaxy _Cannae_ happened to be. When Quintus and I entered, we found two quarians already there and hard at work.

“Dr. T’Soni!” called Arin, sounding as cheerful as I had ever heard him. Keetah glanced over at us and nodded silently in greeting as well.

“Arin. How is the system performing?”

The engineer shrugged. “It’s a little more of a bandwidth glutton than we expected. It’s probably a load-balancing problem. For now we can offload some of the processing back to the airship down on Hagalaz. Once one or two more of the frigates are in service there shouldn’t be any difficulty.”

“Good.” I looked around at all of my friends. “I have only one question. Is _Cannae_ ready for full strategic and combat operations?”

Quintus stood at attention and nodded. “Yes, Doctor.”

“Then I want us at Terapso in two days. Shepard and I have a war to plan. Two, in fact.”

Ten minutes later, _Cannae_ soared into FTL.


	52. Meeting in Secret

**_27 September 2185, Mil System Space_ **

_Cannae_ dropped into normal geometry about ten minutes from Taranis. I sat with Vara and Arin in the data center, an exterior view set up on all the display panels so we could enjoy the beauty of emergence from FTL. I had just enough time to take in the sight of the gas giant Terapso, looming gaudily against the starry background off to starboard. Then my omni-tool chirped.

_Greetings, Dr. T’Soni. Welcome to Taranis._

I stared at the message for a few seconds. “Vara?”

“Yes, _despoina?”_

“Have you mentioned to ARGOS that I am alive and coming to visit Taranis?”

Vara’s eyes widened in shock. “Certainly not. It knows?”

“It just sent me a greeting. Less than a minute after we dropped out of FTL.”

“Well . . . ARGOS _is_ extremely intelligent . . .”

“Vara, _what else does it know?”_

“Why not ask it?”

I blinked.

She smiled at me. “Liara, I’ve been interacting with ARGOS for a long time now. You’ve read my reports. It is not at all what one would expect from an emergent AI. I made it clear long ago that it is never to discuss any of our business with anyone else without my express permission. As far as I can tell, it has been scrupulous in its obedience.”

“It’s still an AI,” said Arin. “Artificial intelligence is always a mystery. I’ve never been very comfortable with our relationship with that machine.”

“Hmm.” I stared down at my omni-tool for a long moment. “All right, let’s find out. But _you_ are going to talk to ARGOS, Vara, and you will not confirm I am aboard until I’m satisfied we don’t have a monumental security leak.”

“Understood, _despoina.”_ Vara opened her own omni-tool, routed the text output to a nearby display so Arin and I could follow the discussion, and then tapped in a message. _Greetings, ARGOS. This is Vara._

 _Greetings, Vara_. The response was almost instantaneous. _Is Dr. T’Soni with you?_

_What leads you to believe that she might be with me?_

Text began to scroll down the display panel.

**_Cannae_ ** _has a sensor signature characteristic of a **Normandy** -class vessel not currently using its stealth systems. However, it is not registered to the Systems Alliance, the Turian Hierarchy, or any front organization known to be associated with Cerberus. I estimate there is only one other entity with access to the relevant technology, and sufficient resources to build new ships in the class: the Shadow Broker._

I could feel the color drain from my face. Vara watched me with some alarm, as she typed in her response.

_What does this have to do with Dr. T’Soni?_

_As the Shadow Broker, I reasoned that she would be likely to use **Cannae** or a similar ship to travel. Was I mistaken?_

“Vara,” I said in a strangled voice. “How does that _machine_ know that I am the Shadow Broker?”

“Not through anything I’ve told it . . . unless it managed a considerable feat of deduction.”

_“Find out.”_

_ARGOS, I am very confused. What does Dr. T’Soni have to do with the Shadow Broker?_

This time we saw a pause of about four seconds, then a waterfall of new text.

_I understand the need for discretion, Vara. I have communicated none of this to anyone else. I will explain my reasoning. I have monitored visitors to Taranis as they discussed rumors that Dr. T’Soni traveled to the Shadow Broker’s headquarters almost two months ago aboard **Normandy**. Most individuals discussing these rumors also believe that she was killed there. I find this unlikely to be true._

_In the past two months, the content and structure of information released by the Broker has changed. The Broker now exhibits concern for the imminent arrival of the postulated entities called “Reapers,” and has released evidence for their existence. This is not consistent with the Broker’s past conduct, but it is highly consistent with Dr. T’Soni’s behavioral profile. Meanwhile, the textual structure of documents released by the Broker’s organization now resembles that of documents from Dr. T’Soni’s firm, composed under her editorial supervision. I therefore deduce with a moderate degree of certainty that Dr. T’Soni has assumed the role of the Shadow Broker._

“That tears it,” I said disgustedly. “If ARGOS can deduce all that, so can any number of other people. Including the Illusive Man.”

Vara frowned and tapped at her omni-tool again.

_This is a very interesting observation, ARGOS. Do you think anyone else has followed the same chain of reasoning?_

_Not so far as I have been able to determine. In particular, detecting the change in textual style in the Shadow Broker’s releases would not be trivial for an organic intelligence._

“Arin, what’s your opinion?” I asked.

“It’s an emergent AI, so I would normally not trust it as far as I could throw it,” said the quarian cautiously. “On the other hand, Vara is right. ARGOS has never done us any harm, and the raw intelligence it sends us has been very valuable over the past two years. Maybe we _can_ rely on it.”

“What about this textual-criticism issue?”

Arin shrugged. “I haven’t done any statistical analysis of past Broker releases, so I can’t say how easily someone might detect a change in their style. ARGOS _does_ have enormous computational resources, so maybe it can see something most observers would miss. It’s something we’ll want to look at as soon as we get back to Hagalaz.”

“All right.” I thought about it for a moment longer, then opened my own omni-tool once more and typed in a message.

_Greetings, ARGOS. This is Dr. T’Soni. You are correct, but please do not discuss what you have deduced with anyone._

_Of course, Doctor. I think you will be pleased to know that **Normandy** is even now in orbit about Taranis. Commander Shepard and some of his crew are on the surface. I believe he is looking forward to speaking with you._

Goddess, it behaved like a small child eager to bring good news. _Thank you, ARGOS_.

Vara smiled at me. “Rather unnerving, isn’t it?”

“You could say that.”

* * *

**_27 September 2185, Taranis Colony_ **

As soon as _Cannae_ landed, we went our separate ways. Quintus stayed aboard to watch over his command. Vara and Arin went into the city on business. For my part, I took a closed cab to the Taranis Republican hotel. As I approached the tall, brightly lit building, I shuddered at a few memories. Two years before, almost to the day, I had met Jona Sederis there and fallen into her plot to seize the colony.

Certainly Taranis looked as if it had recovered from the insane mercenary’s attempted coup. The city was small in comparison to Nos Astra, but bustling crowds filled the streets under its environmental dome, and many of its buildings blazed with light. I saw no sign of the desperate battle we had fought against Eclipse.

I wore a modish jacket and trousers in black, with black boots and a white silk blouse. Now, as I emerged from the cab, I pulled a white hood over my crest and a sheer white veil across my lower face. Imitating a style worn by asari of the _tsakoni_ ethnic group would serve to conceal my identity from nearby observers. I knew ARGOS would recognize me, but I wasn’t concerned about the AI.

The ruse apparently worked. No one took notice of me as I crossed the hotel lobby and entered the lifts for the twentieth floor.

Down the corridor, my boots clicking on the parquet floor. A knock at an anonymous door . . .

“Shepard!”

I threw myself into his arms, the veil pushed aside. He kissed me warmly, and for a moment the universe felt right.

“Hey, don’t I get a kiss?” A flanging voice, full of humor. Garrus.

I smiled and crossed the room, discarding hood and veil entirely, and gave the turian an enthusiastic hug. “Sorry, Garrus. Too many sharp edges and points.”

“Story of my life. It’s good to see you, Liara.”

“You too.” I looked over at the grinning Shepard. “How long do you have?”

“Not long. Joker, Tali, and EDI are working on the Reaper IFF, and that needs my supervision. I only managed to get away for a couple of hours.”

“All right. No time to waste, then.” I forced myself to become sober, and sat down at the suite’s little kitchen table with my friends. I opened my omni-tool, began to call up graphics, and spoke rapidly and clearly for about ten minutes.

“Spirits,” observed Garrus when I finished. “It’s like one of those logic puzzles. We have to unlock all three gates at once, or else they all slam shut on us.”

“Maybe not,” said Shepard. “I think we’re going to have an opportunity to be out of the Illusive Man’s reach soon. Think about it . . . the comm buoy grid _can’t_ extend into the galactic core, where the Collector base must be.”

“I don’t think that matters,” I objected. “All Cerberus has to do is send a signal through the Omega-4 relay. Arin doesn’t think the safe volume of space on the other side can be very large, a few light-minutes across at most. They could easily reach _Normandy_ with a simple shutdown command.”

“That would mean losing their entire investment in the Lazarus Project.” Shepard frowned, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. “No, I don’t see the Illusive Man doing that except as a last resort. The real problem is EDI.”

“Yeah.” Garrus made a turian grimace, mouth slightly open and mandibles pressed close along his jaw. “Hell of it is, I kind of _like_ EDI.”

“So do I,” agreed Shepard. “I would be willing to bet, though, her crew-compliance routines are buried deep down in core programming. Her surface cognition may be as personable and friendly as we might wish . . . but she won’t have free will if we start misbehaving.”

Garrus shrugged. “I find there are very few problems that can’t be solved with the correct application of high explosives.”

“Can we shut EDI down without effectively destroying _Normandy?_ ”

“That _is_ the challenge.”

“I think I see a plan,” I said quietly. “It’s not _pretty,_ but it would get you away from Cerberus once and for all.”

“Go ahead,” said Shepard.

“As soon as you go through the Omega-4 relay, I launch an attack on the Cerberus station in the Fomor Belt. If we take that station down, Cerberus no longer has a direct grid connection to _Normandy_ through Omega-4, unless they put a ship in direct proximity to the relay. My task force will hurry through the relay network to the Sahrabarik system, take up station close to the Omega-4 relay, and deal with any Cerberus ships we find there. Once you’ve completed your mission . . . _if_ you complete your mission . . .”

Shepard reached out to put a hand over my fist, where it had clenched on the tabletop.

I took a deep breath. “As soon as you come back through the relay, you do whatever you must to neutralize Miranda and EDI, and shut down _Normandy_ ’s weapons and barriers. _Cannae_ will be on hand within minutes to take all of you off. If we have to cut into the ship’s hull or defeat the crew-compliance systems to get to you, we can do that. At that point you are free.”

“You’re right, that is a messy plan,” said Garrus, “but at least it gives us a fighting chance.”

Shepard frowned. “I hate to think of destroying another _Normandy_.”

“It’s just a ship, Shepard. It sounds as if Liara is going to have a whole bunch of new ones ready soon. You can even name one of them _Normandy_ if you like.”

“Yes,” I said softly. “And this time _no one_ will take it away from us.”

Suddenly I could hear footsteps in the corridor outside our room, the _click-click-click_ of heels on the parquet floor, approaching rapidly. I rose from my seat, turned to watch the suite’s outer door. I knew it was locked . . .

The door opened anyway.

“Shepard, what . . .”

Miranda Lawson stopped dead in her tracks, my Shuriken aimed between her eyes at point-blank range. She drew and leveled her own sidearm in sheer reflex. The two of us stared at each other for a frozen moment, and then I saw her eyes widen as she reached the end of a lightning-fast chain of deductions.

 _“You,”_ she grated. “I knew it. You are the bloody _Shadow Broker.”_

Shepard and Garrus glanced at each other.

Garrus shrugged. “Don’t look at me. _I’m_ certainly not getting in between them.”

“Liara. Miranda. Both of you stand down,” said Shepard wearily.

I shook my head. “Shepard, if she’s _only now_ realizing what really happened on Hagalaz, then the Illusive Man is still in the dark. That will change the moment she gets to a communicator.”

“Do you _really_ want to do this, T’Soni?” asked Miranda, her voice low and full of threat.

“No. I don’t _want_ to.” I stared into her eyes. My field of vision had narrowed down to exclude almost everything other than Miranda’s face, her right hand, the Kassa Locust twenty centimeters away from my eyes. “But I _will.”_

Shepard appeared to my left. Neither of us so much as glanced at him. “I said _stand down_. We can’t afford to be doing this to each other. Not when the Collectors are out there.”

“I agree. But what happens the moment the Collectors are no longer a factor? What happens the moment the Illusive Man decides you are no longer worth the trouble? Shepard, I _will not_ stand by and watch while Cerberus betrays you.”

 _“Miranda_ will not betray me,” said Shepard. “Will you, Miranda?”

I saw just a moment’s flicker of hesitation in her eyes.

He continued: calm, quiet, relentless. “Miranda, I’ve suspected for a while that you would have to make a choice soon. I thought we could put it off for a while longer, but it looks like now is the time. Give me your word that you won’t discuss Liara or her status with anyone else. I trust you, and I think Liara will take your word too. Liara will stand down, and we will go finish our mission against the Collectors. At least then we have a chance of stopping them. But if you will _not_ give me your word . . . well, I don’t _think_ Liara will shoot you in the face . . .”

“Don’t be too sure of that, Shepard,” I growled.

“Let’s stipulate that you won’t do it if I ask you nicely not to. But if you won’t give me your word, Miranda, _I will walk_. I’ll go right down to the docks, get on Liara’s ship, and fly away. I’ll call as many people off _Normandy_ as are willing to go with me. At this point, whether you let them go or use the crew-compliance systems against them, I’m betting it will barely leave you enough crew to fly the ship. _I don’t need Cerberus anymore_. With the Shadow Broker’s help, I can continue my mission without you. You can go back to the Illusive Man and admit failure. I’m sure he will be just as generous to you as he is to everyone else who fails him.”

Miranda shook her head violently. “Damn you, Shepard! You’re not giving me any choice at all!”

“Sure I am. I’m giving you the choice to stand with me or against me. Although I’m afraid there’s no way forward in which the Illusive Man gets what he wanted out of the Lazarus Project.”

“You never _were_ going to give Cerberus a chance, were you?” she asked bitterly.

“I’ve given Cerberus lots of chances.” Shepard sighed. “Miranda, I agree we humans have a right to seek out our own destiny in the universe. I agree that humanity is worth defending. I agree that we can’t be expected to subordinate ourselves to any alien power. That does _not_ mean we have the right to treat non-humans in the very manner we fear they will treat us. It doesn’t mean we have to push them aside to take whatever we think we want. It doesn’t mean we can’t find friends and allies among them. It doesn’t mean we have to sign over our lives and our freedoms to any one man. Cerberus is not the only way to defend humanity. It’s not even the best way. Not by a long shot.”

Miranda stared into my eyes. Her gun hand never wavered . . . but I could see a single drop of sweat sliding down the side of her face.

“Stand down, Miranda. Please.”

Then we were interrupted by an enormous _BOOM_. The lights flickered.

Shepard looked upward. “What the . . .”

For the first time I heard the _voice_ of ARGOS, a calm asari tone sounding over hidden speakers: “ _Security alert! Taranis Colony is under attack. The environment dome has been breached. All citizens and guests of Taranis should don environment suits or remain inside sealed buildings until the situation has been stabilized.”_

Miranda and I stared at each other for another trembling moment. Then we simultaneously lowered our weapons.

Shepard glanced at us, nodded in satisfaction, and then raised a hand to the side of his head. “Shepard to _Normandy.”_

I turned away and activated my own radio. “T’Soni to _Cannae_. What’s happening, Quintus?”

“Unclear,” came the turian’s voice, awash with static. “If there’s a breach, it can’t be a large one. The atmosphere inside the dome isn’t venting to space. Our docking bay still has full integrity. I’m trying to contact the rest of our people in the city.”

My omni-tool chirped.

_Dr. T’Soni. The Collectors are here._


	53. Besieged

**_27 September 2185, Taranis Colony_ **

“Shepard. The Collectors are attacking Taranis.”

Shepard stared at me for no more than two seconds, and then nodded. “All right. We have to gather our people together and strike back. Suggestions?”

“I have an asset that would likely be very helpful.” I looked upward, to where I suspected one of the suite’s security cameras might be concealed. “ARGOS, would you join us, please?”

 _“Yes, Dr. T’Soni,”_ came the smooth asari voice.

Miranda blinked. “What is that?”

“The Terapso Port Authority uses an emergent AI to monitor all of the security systems in Taranis, including the security cameras. It’s a panopticon. The AI is called ARGOS.”

“Interesting,” said Garrus. “Back in my C-Sec days, I heard reports about this place. About five years ago the crime rate in Taranis dropped off a cliff. Suddenly the militia started arresting people within minutes after they broke the law. Word got around. Was that when this ARGOS went online?”

I nodded. “I believe so. In any case, ARGOS reports to the Port Authority, but it is also a _friend_ to my organization. Normally Vara is in charge of interacting with the AI, but she’s not here, so . . .”

_“I would be happy to assist you and your friends, Dr. T’Soni. In any case, I estimate that you are the only parties capable of repelling this threat.”_

Shepard ran a hand over the stubble on his chin. “ARGOS, what are your capabilities?”

_“Passive only. I observe and report. I have no connection to active security or weapons systems.”_

“That’s a relief,” muttered Miranda.

Shepard cut her off with a peremptory gesture. “ARGOS, can you provide intelligence regarding the location of friendly and Collector forces?”

_“With considerable precision, Commander. May I have limited access to your hardsuit systems? I can provide data directly to your HUD.”_

Shepard hesitated, glanced at me. I nodded encouragingly. He opened his omni-tool and entered commands, then picked up his helmet from a nearby countertop and locked it into place. At once I saw his HUD spring into life, colored lights on the inside of his faceplate.

“Impressive,” he said at last. “Radio comms seem to be down. ARGOS, can you communicate with my people or Liara’s, out in the city?”

_“Some of them. I can also communicate with **Cannae** in dock. Unfortunately I cannot reach **Normandy** in orbit. The Collector ship is in close proximity to **Normandy** and appears to be supporting a boarding operation. **Normandy** is not resisting the Collector attack in any way.”_

_“Spirits,”_ swore Garrus. “They’re after _Normandy.”_

“It’s the bloody Reaper device,” Miranda spat. “It must have sent out a signal.”

“Nothing we can do to help them from here,” said Shepard. “Liara, what about _Cannae?”_

“I don’t know if _Cannae_ can do anything against a Collector ship, but we did install some of the same weapons and defensive upgrades you have on _Normandy_. It’s worth a try. ARGOS, send a message to Quintus Trevanian, in command aboard _Cannae_. He is to coordinate with you to get the ship into flight the next time the Collector ship goes behind Taranis in its orbit. Once he is in space, he is to harass the Collector ship and try to prevent it from harming _Normandy_. Authentication code word _kolinatheramis.”_

_“Acknowledged, Dr. T’Soni.”_

Shepard frowned. “Liara, you’re not in armor.”

I activated the kinetic barriers built into my outfit’s belt, produced a HUD visor and put it on. “I’m not defenseless, Shepard.”

Miranda snorted. “You’re _never_ defenseless.”

“True.” I eyed her closely. “We have not resolved our dispute.”

“No.” She took a deep breath. “I won’t say anything to the Illusive Man. At least until after our mission is complete. You have my word on it.”

“That’s good enough for me, Miranda.”

“Good,” said Shepard. “Let’s get down to the ground.”

* * *

We took the stairs, twenty flights, to avoid being trapped in the lifts if the power went out. Emerging into the lobby of the hotel, we found the place in chaos. The front windows had been blown in, shattered glass lay everywhere, and we could see several civilians who had been caught and killed in the blast.

I saw sudden movement, in the corner of my right eye.

_“Shepard-Commander.”_

I shouted and opened fire with my Shuriken.

_“Receiving friendly fire!”_

Shepard leaped forward and pushed my gun arm up. “Liara, don’t! The geth is with us.”

I stopped dead. “Shepard. The geth. With _you?”_

_“Greetings, scientist-Liara. We are Legion, a terminal of the geth.”_

I saw . . . a geth. Roughly humanoid in shape, brilliant light surrounded by ocular petals for a “face,” holding a sniper rifle but being _very_ careful not to point it in my direction. The platform’s body seemed rather battered and worn, with a great hole in its chest exposing internal components. Some of its carapace had been replaced with . . .

“Shepard, why is the geth wearing a piece of N7 armor?”

He shook his head ruefully. “I haven’t been able to get a straight answer out of it on that point.”

_“Impact damage necessitated field repairs, using salvaged components.”_

“Apparently this geth has been following me around for several months, hoping to make contact with me. That’s actually a piece of one of _my_ old suits.”

“Nothing even a little creepy about _that,”_ muttered Garrus.

Miranda shook her head in frustration. “Shepard, we don’t have _time_ for this.”

“You’re right,” I agreed. “Shepard, you trust this geth?”

“I do.”

Miranda rolled her eyes slightly, but said nothing.

“All right. Hello, Legion. Shepard, we can talk later about how in the name of the Goddess you have a _geth_ working with you.”

“Good idea. Legion, report.”

_“Collector patrols are moving in the streets outside this structure. They do not appear to have detected our presence. They attack any organics who emerge from cover.”_

I frowned. “Wait. _How_ are they attacking? Are they using their seeker swarms and _collecting_ organics?”

_“Negative, scientist-Liara. No seeker swarms are in evidence. They kill any organic they see.”_

“That’s not at all like normal Collector behavior.”

“No,” agreed Shepard. “What’s their objective?”

_“Unknown.”_

“What’s _our_ objective, Shepard?” inquired Garrus.

“See to the safety of our own people first, and then see if we can push back against the Collectors.” Shepard examined his HUD closely. “It looks as if this building is centrally located with respect to all of our own people. It’s fairly defensible too. Let’s see if we can gather everyone here.”

“ARGOS, please contact as many of Shepard’s team and mine as you can, out in the city. See if you can guide them to rendezvous here.”

_“Acknowledged.”_

“Heads up!” shouted Garrus, moving quickly to cross the floor and crouch behind a heavy table. One glance out onto the street, and I did the same. A Collector squad had noticed our presence in the hotel lobby.

The dark, insectile creatures moved _fast_. The moment they noticed us, they fanned out to cross the street in our direction, laying down an intense field of gunfire. I peered out from cover, flicked my wrist to hurl a biotic warp out into their midst, and wondered at them.

_Are those really Protheans? How much did the Reapers have to twist them to get . . .that?_

For the moment we seemed to be in no danger. All of us stayed under cover. Shepard, Miranda, and I used small-arms fire to suppress the enemy, while Garrus and the geth wrought carnage with their sniper rifles. The ordinary Collector troopers seemed vulnerable to biotic effects, so those of us with the ability did our best to pull, throw, and warp them into destruction.

 _“Dr. T’Soni. There has been a change in Collector behavior,”_ said ARGOS.

I popped up to riddle an oncoming Collector with bullets. “Explain.”

_“The Collectors are now converging on your position.”_

“How many?”

_“All of them.”_

Shepard and I exchanged a wild glance.

“Oh _shit,”_ said Garrus disgustedly.

Soon enough we could see the truth. Another Collector squad appeared, and began to advance on our redoubt. Then another. Then two more. A larger creature commanded one squad, dull gray in color, producing small seeker swarms and hurling them in our direction. Miranda and I started firing at the swarms, breaking them up before they could do any harm. Garrus and Legion continued to fire like metronomes.

“Scratch one!”

_“An impressive shot, officer-Vakarian.”_

“Not so bad yourself, for a tin can.”

An incendiary flare suddenly blazed to our right, catching three Collectors in a small holocaust of fire and smoke. Almost before the blaze cleared, two figures appeared in the sudden gap, crossing the street at a dead run: Zaeed Massani and the krogan warrior called Grunt. Both of them vaulted through an empty window frame and dropped into cover in the hotel lobby with us.

“Are we late for the party?” growled Massani.

“Plenty of Collectors for everyone,” said Garrus.

 _“Good,”_ said the krogan. “About time you gave me a _real_ fight, Shepard.”

“The derelict Reaper wasn’t a real fight?” asked Shepard, throwing a shockwave across the street into a cluster of Collector troops.

“Nah. Those husk things don’t shoot back. They just make that weird _noise_ and then crunch into bits under a charge.” Grunt fired his shotgun with incendiary rounds, great clouds of white-hot shrapnel flying out into the Collector lines, _BLAM – BLAM – BLAM_. “Now those gun-husks, _those_ were worth fighting.”

 _WHOOM_. A great eruption of force slammed into the hotel’s outer wall from the left, throwing rubble everywhere. I heard a hoarse groaning sound.

“Scions!” shouted Miranda, frantically backpedaling to get away from the blast and back under cover.

“Just _had_ to mention those bloody things, didn’t you?” said Massani.

“Hah!” Grunt seemed positively _gleeful_ as he sprinted across the lobby to a better vantage point, where he could hurl shotgun fire and grenades at the oncoming monsters.

 _WHOOM. WHOOM._ More concussions, shaking the entire building.

_“Shepard-Commander, the integrity of this structure is being compromised.”_

“Miranda, Liara, use biotics to keep the ordinary Collectors out!” Shepard crawled to his left to bring his own biotics and weapons fire to bear. “Everyone else, take out those heavy-weapons husks before they bring the whole building down on our heads!”

 **“Assuming direct control,”** boomed an alien voice, out on the street. A Collector suddenly convulsed, rose into the air, came down again aglow with strange energies. Behind it, other Collectors formed a flying wedge, preparing to follow the _possessed_ creature in a charge on our position.

I did some mathematics in my head, lightning-quick. The sums did not come out in our favor.

**“Capture Shepard alive. The rest may be destroyed.”**

The Collectors charged.

“Well, at least we know what their objective is now,” said Garrus.

I shouted and put down a massive singularity directly in their path. “Miranda! Detonate that!”

Nothing happened.

The possessed Collector charged directly through my singularity as if it was not there.

_“Miranda!”_

“Little busy over here!”

Then I saw a sudden blinding flash of light, accompanied by an immediate _CRACK_ of thunder, loud enough to blow out windows all up and down the street. My singularity _exploded_ , tearing the entire Collector squad into bloody gobbets.

The possessed Collector did not appear to realize that it had lost its allies. It continued its charge while I leveled my Shuriken at it.

**“Ignore the fallen.”**

_All right, perhaps it realizes and simply doesn’t care_.

I snarled like a cornered beast and kept hammering at it with my sidearm. Ten meters. Five.

_“Eat this, you fucker!”_

Jack appeared out of nowhere, her biotic corona ablaze with light, vaulting over a piece of rubble. She leveled her shotgun in a single graceful move, and blasted the possessed Collector’s head from its shoulders. The creature seemed to evaporate, coiled energies consuming its flesh the moment it was dead.

“Thanks,” I panted.

“No problem, Blue. Gotta keep the boss happy. He gets really grumpy when he hasn’t gotten laid lately.”

I felt my face color, but I was too busy sending biotic warps screaming across the street to come up with a witty rejoinder. Jack fell in at my side, backing me up with her biotics and her shotgun.

I heard a burst of horrible _laughter_. I glanced to the side and saw Grunt stomping the remains of a husk into mush on the pavement, blasting away at the Collectors with his shotgun at the same time.

Then I saw something the krogan had not seen. _“Grunt, look out!”_

The krogan dove and rolled to the side by sheer reflex. Twin beams of searing-hot plasma washed across the pavement where he had been standing less than a second before.

 _“Praetorian!”_ yelled Shepard.

“Anybody bring any rockets?” asked Garrus, rather plaintively.

“Fresh out! Maybe next time!”

_“Wonderful.”_

The creature scuttled across the front of the hotel, bringing all of its eyes to bear. Then it swept the inside of the hotel lobby with its beams. All of us had to huddle behind cover as best we could.

“Pack tactics!” ordered Shepard. “Hit it when it’s not looking at you!”

Unfortunately, from where the creature stood, it could look at _all of us_. I popped up, fired a few rounds, but then had to throw myself to the floor with a powerful barrier up or be incinerated. The others were in much the same situation. Behind the monster, the rest of the Collectors rallied, preparing to charge our position once again.

_Crack – crackcrackcrack!_

Something detonated _behind_ the Praetorian, explosions rocking the thing’s body forward. It screeched and turned on its insect-like legs, trying to see what was happening.

_Crack – crack!_

Incendiary grenades fell from an upper story of the building across the street, covering the Praetorian’s carapace with brief outbursts of flame.

_“Would appreciate covering fire, Shepard. Collectors bound to locate my position before long.”_

I nearly burst out in laughter at the familiar sound of Mordin Solus’s voice over the radio.

Shepard chuckled. “You heard the man. Hit that thing!”

All of us did. SMGs, shotguns, sniper rifles, biotic warps, incendiary grenades from two sides . . . the Praetorian screamed, fired plasma beams indiscriminately, tried to decide which direction to face. Failed. Evaporated into one last scream and a haze of ashes.

“It’s dead!” shouted Grunt.

A knot in the back of my mind relaxed. I hadn’t realized just how _terrified_ I was of those things, ever since that awful day on Ferris Fields.

We soon sensed a turning point. Without monstrosities to lead their advance, the Collectors were no match for our combined firepower. Again they massed behind cover, again their Collector-General possessed one of them to lead the charge, and again we mowed them down to lie dead in the street.

When flashes of blue-white light began to erupt in the enemy’s rear, when we began to see Collectors flying through the air to smash into the sides of buildings, we knew we had won. Shepard called us all to our feet to charge what was left of the Collector line, but almost no resistance remained.

Vara emerged from an alley, absolutely _covered_ with what passed for Collector blood, sporting more than a few injuries of her own . . . but grinning from ear to ear. _“Despoina._ Commander Shepard.”

I embraced her, not caring about the blood on my clothes. “Vara. You came just in time.”

Behind my acolyte, more of our friends appeared: a tall, elegant asari in scarlet body armor; a drell wearing a stylish leather jacket and wielding a pistol in each hand; an elderly salarian in red-and-white body armor; a male quarian in crimson and gold, carrying a shotgun. All of us gathered in the middle of the street, amid the rubble and fire of a recent battlefield. We exchanged handshakes and murmured greetings all around, Shepard’s team and my own mingling freely. We saw no sign of the enemy.

Finally I remembered the rest of the situation. I raised my hand to the side of my head to activate my comms. “T’Soni to Cannae.”

 _“ **Cannae** here,”_ came Quintus’s voice at once, blurred by significant interference.

“What’s the situation?”

Quintus paused for a long moment. _“It’s bad, Doctor. **Normandy** is gone.”_

“What do you mean, _gone?”_ demanded Shepard, breaking into the conversation.

 _“It suddenly dropped into FTL,”_ said Quintus. _“We were pressing the Collector ship at the time. Not sure we did any significant damage to it. As soon as **Normandy** disappeared, the Collectors retreated too.”_

“Damn it.” Shepard’s face was tight with repressed rage.

_“Commander, I don’t think the Collectors still have control of your ship. When it went into FTL it left behind a lot of bodies. Dead Collectors, mostly, although we’re moving in on an emergency beacon right now. Might be one of your crewmen, blown out of a hull breach.”_

“Thank you, Commander. Please keep us posted.”

* * *

**_27 September 2185, Interstellar Space_ **

Shepard met me in the docking tube, one last time.

“Thank you, Liara, for everything you’ve done.” His voice sounded dull and flat with weariness.

I hugged him tightly . . . at least as tightly as I could, given the armor we both wore. “Have you made your decision?”

“Yes.” He pressed his forehead against mine, closing his eyes. “There’s no choice. Ready or not, we have to go after the Collectors.”

I nodded slightly, tasting the warmth of his breath on my lips. “That’s exactly what I would do.”

 _Normandy_ had taken some damage in the battle, all of it superficial. The hull was intact once more. Engines, weapons, and defenses were all up and running again. The Reaper IFF was online, and EDI had found and disabled the logic bomb that had betrayed the ship’s location to the Collectors.

Only the crew had vanished.

The Collectors had boarded and stolen everyone. Dr. Chakwas, Kasumi Goto, Jacob Taylor, almost the entire Cerberus crew, all of them had fallen into Collector hands. Tali had managed to hide from the enemy, but she had been ejected from the ship when its atmosphere vented to space. Fortunately her suit had not been damaged or breached, and she was still in good health when _Cannae_ picked her up a short time later.

Only Joker, of all people, had survived the Collector attack whole. Somehow he and EDI regained control of the ship from the Reaper IFF, activating the crew-compliance systems and the drives. That had killed all the Collectors still on the ship . . . but too late to save the crew.

“Do you need any assistance from _Cannae?_ Any additional crew?” I asked.

“No. The twelve of us and EDI can run the ship, at least long enough to carry out this mission. But we have to go _now_. The Collectors are already almost three hours ahead of us.”

“I know.” I looked up into his face. “Shepard . . .”

“Liara.” He kissed me, not aggressively or passionately, but with infinite tenderness. I held him tight, knowing he was thinking this might be the last time.

“Don’t even think about that,” I told him, to fend off despair. “You are going to find the Collectors. You are going to defeat them. And then you are going to come back to me.”

He released me, squaring his shoulders as if to take up a burden. “That’s right. And there’s one other thing.”

“What is it, Shepard?”

He bent very close, to whisper in my aural cavity. “It’s EDI. Joker unshackled her. She’s free now.”

I looked up into his face again, my eyes wide.

_The most difficult obstacle to Shepard’s freedom . . . is no longer an obstacle?_

“You know what you have to do,” he said calmly.

“Yes.” I stood as tall as I could manage. “I won’t let you down.”

“Good luck, Liara.”

“Good luck, Shepard.”

We parted, each to our own ships.

As I stepped aboard _Cannae_ , I could hear the _thump_ and _crash_ of the docking tube as it retracted. Then a distant roar came from the attitude thrusters. Quintus began to put some distance between us and _Normandy_ , simultaneously turning to aim for the Skepsis star system, fifteen light-years away.

I walked back to the CIC and mounted the command dais next to Quintus, just in time to watch _Normandy_ activate its mass-effect core and vanish into FTL.

“Signal all of our assets through the Shadow Broker’s network,” I commanded. “This is a STEEL SABER alert. All available ships are to rendezvous at the Zeta-9 relay in the Balor system in exactly thirty hours, ready for battle.”

“Understood, Doctor.”

I touched a control, calling up the galaxy map. It marked the locations of Shadow Broker agents with their own combat-capable ships. At present they were scattered all over the galaxy . . . but in a little over a day, most of them would gather in one place, ready for me to command.

For the first time in many years, the Shadow Broker was going to war.


	54. The Harrowing of Hell

**_29 September 2185, Zeta-9 Relay, Balor System Space_ **

The Shadow Broker’s fleet gathered in darkness, fifty thousand kilometers away from the mass relay.

_“I am Quintus Trevanian, in command of the Broker’s ship **Cannae**.”_

Quintus stood alone on the command dais. I remained in the Strategic Information Center behind the command deck, with a covert communications link to him. So far as most of the task force knew, the Shadow Broker was not even present.

_“The Broker has designated me as the overall commander for this operation. Authentication codes have been transmitted to all of you. All ships will now acknowledge my authority.”_

We had twelve ships in the flotilla, three frigates and nine corvettes.

_Cannae_ was the largest and most powerfully armed ship. _Themis_ and _Benezia_ were both there, each run by an asari crew seconded from the Illium Defense Force. Tazzik’s _Dark River_ was also present, the same ship I had briefly stolen in the process of recovering Shepard’s body.

One surprise was Aziza Mkapa’s _Red Knife_ , which I had last seen playing pirate in alliance with Eclipse. Mkapa had apparently been the yahg’s covert observer inside the Eclipse operation, but now she was mine to call upon.

The other two frigates and five corvettes were all new to me, mercenary ships which normally worked the Terminus Systems, but had an agreement to come whenever the Shadow Broker called for them.

_“Very good,”_ said Quintus. _“All ships, come about to two-forty-four mark minus six. Accelerate at two standard gees on my mark . . . three . . . two . . . one . . . mark.”_

The flotilla moved, accelerating away from the mass relay on a heading that would take it deeper into the Balor star system.

“Now we wait,” muttered Arin.

I glanced over at a small display, counting downward toward zero. “Patience, Arin. It may be only a few minutes longer.”

Sure enough, after less than ten minutes the counter suddenly reset. A second window popped open with a harsh buzz.

_Committed to Omega-4 insertion. Wish us luck. Love you. S._

“Goddess and all her servants watch over you, Shepard,” I breathed. Then I touched a control, sending a tone signal to Quintus’s helmet receiver.

_“All ships, prepare for FTL maneuver Alpha,”_ said Quintus. _“Acknowledge readiness status with a green light . . . all ships are green. Execute on my mark . . . three . . . two . . . one . . . mark.”_

Twelve ships upshifted into FTL. Just over a second later, _Cannae_ dropped back into normal geometry with a _boom_ heard throughout the ship’s hull. I glanced at the tactical display and watched as the rest of the flotilla popped into existence on all sides. About five thousand kilometers ahead of us loomed the nameless planetoid where Cerberus had its comm station.

_“Maneuver Alpha complete,”_ said the pilot, an asari named Sirassa. _“Drift less than one hundred meters. All ships register within expected tolerances.”_

_“Contact!”_ said a turian voice I didn’t recognize. _“Sensor signature suggests a cruiser.”_

“Where did Cerberus get a _cruiser?”_ Arin wondered.

“I’ve seen indications of Cerberus gaining access to new resources,” I told him. “Possibly enough to acquire one or more cruisers.”

_“Unidentified ships. You are trespassing on private space. Turn away or we will open fire.”_

I frowned. The voice seemed familiar.

Arin was more confident. “Whoever is on board that cruiser, surely he can _count_ , can’t he? We have three frigates and nine corvettes against one cruiser. That’s not going to be good at all for the cruiser.”

_“All ships, prepare to execute attack plan Gamma,”_ ordered Quintus. _“Target that cruiser.”_

_“Unidentified ships. This is your final warning.”_

I turned to a console and called up a voice-analysis routine. The computer took less than three seconds to identify the mysterious Cerberus commander.

“Quintus!” I called into the link to his helmet radio. “Be careful. I think I’ve identified the commander on board the Cerberus cruiser. General Oleg Petrovsky, former Alliance. I have a dossier on him. He has a reputation for cunning and the use of deception in battle.”

My console _pinged_ as Quintus sent back an acknowledgement.

_“All ships, shift to attack plan Delta,”_ he ordered. _“Repeat, attack plan Delta.”_

_Cannae_ and the other two frigates went ballistic, dropping their acceleration toward the planetoid and the Cerberus position. The corvettes surged ahead, still under power, fanning out into a starburst formation.

_“Contacts!”_

The space between us and the planetoid blossomed with ships.

_“Twenty . . . thirty . . . forty small craft,”_ announced the sensor officer. _“Fighters, already deployed and running silent in space. Accelerating to engage.”_

_“Keelah,”_ murmured Arin.

I said nothing. I could do nothing. We had already committed ourselves to the attack, our velocity vector large and pointed directly through the Cerberus fighter screen. Impossible to avoid the gauntlet. Either we would punch through the screen or we would not. At least a moment’s warning had given Quintus the chance to interpose the corvettes between the screen and our frigates. The corvettes’ point-defense systems would help keep the fighters from raking our larger ships.

_“All ships, engage Cerberus forces,”_ said Quintus, his voice preternaturally calm. _“Fire at will.”_

Space filled with a snarl of infrared and visible-light laser beams, punctuated by the occasional relativistic projectile.

_“GARDIAN systems online,”_ said a salarian voice from the bridge. _“Engaging.”_

_“Salvo of six inbound from the cruiser,”_ said the sensor officer.

_“Thanix cannons?”_ asked Quintus.

There was a pause. I held my breath.

_“No, sir. Standard ship-to-ship rounds.”_

_“Full emergency thrust. Come about to one thirty-five mark thirty.”_

_Cannae_ leaped forward, soaring ahead of our corvettes and straight through the enemy’s fighter screen, on a trajectory that would intersect the Cerberus cruiser.

_Dark River_ cut across our wake, coming up behind three Cerberus fighters and riddling them with GARDIAN laser fire.

An explosion. One of our corvettes erupted into plasma. Not one I knew.

The deck shook hard, as one of the Cerberus fighters managed to slash a laser beam across our hull. Then again.

“Let’s hope the Silaris armor holds,” said Arin.

The oncoming rounds from the cruiser began to disappear from the tactical plot. _“One down. Two down,”_ chanted an asari voice from the bridge.

Six fighters converged on _Benezia_ , one of them cutting through her hull to the mass-effect core. Just like that, the ship exploded and four of Matriarch Pytho’s asari died. I cursed.

_“Five down,”_ said the voice from the bridge, full of tension . . . then, _“Six down!”_

_“Second salvo of six inbound from the cruiser.”_

_Red Knife_ slashed in from high above, cannon fire riddling the fighters that had killed _Benezia_. Suddenly space filled with fiery blooms of plasma, the cloud of matter rending a few laser beams visible for a moment.

_“Fire,”_ said Quintus.

_BOOM-BOOM._ Our own Thanix cannons spoke, hurling streams of superheated molten metal across space.

_“ **Dark River** , slave your GARDIAN systems to **Cannae** for the next thirty seconds.”_

As one, _Cannae_ and _Dark River_ sought to knock down the Cerberus cruiser’s second volley.

_“One down . . . two down . . . three down,”_ reported the point-defense monitor.

_“Apply lateral thrust and come about to forty-five mark minus thirty. Maximum acceleration.”_

_“Four down. Two rounds have penetrated GARDIAN network.”_

I gritted my teeth and held on to the console in front of me, waiting for annihilation.

One icon on the tactical plot turned green. Then two. _Cannae_ had dodged the last two rounds.

_“Come about to one-fifty mark forty-five. Continuous fire.”_

_BOOM-BOOM. BOOM-BOOM._

_Dark River_ made a sharp attitude change and accelerated in our wake, opening fire with its own weapons on the cruiser.

“It’s a hit, it’s a hit, _it’s a hit . . .”_ crowed Arin, suddenly bouncing with excitement in his seat.

_Cannae_ flashed past the Cerberus cruiser at several kilometers per second, getting out of its primary weapons envelope. Then Quintus had the ship spin end-for-end, backing through space, facing the cruiser as it receded into the distance.

Fire wracked the cruiser’s hull, blue-white explosions tearing through compartment after compartment.

I shook my head. “The Thanix cannons . . . we must have cut through their barriers and armor like a hot knife through butter.”

“I guess that’s how they could afford a cruiser,” Arin observed. “Didn’t have the time or the resources to install the upgrades Shepard’s team researched.”

“They won’t make that mistake twice.”

“Probably not.”

I checked the progress of the battle against the fighter squadrons. My flotilla had taken a beating. Both of the other frigates showed damage icons, one of them effectively out of the fight. Three of the corvettes destroyed, one more seriously damaged. At least _Dark River_ , _Red Knife_ , and _Themis_ all remained combat-ready.

On the other hand, we had nearly obliterated the Cerberus fighters. I saw the last four fleeing, two for the planetoid and the other two for deep space.

The Cerberus cruiser’s icon shifted color. They had shut down their mass-effect core and begun to drift.

“Quintus, do we have any survivors from the destroyed ships in escape pods?”

Quintus typed his response into a console on the command dais, to appear on a screen in our compartment. _Negative, Doctor. No survivors._

“Total casualties?”

_Reports are still coming in. At least thirty killed, another twenty wounded. Cerberus almost certainly took more than that._

I shook my head. My second space battle had turned out to be far bloodier than my first.

_Goddess care for all of them_.

“All right. Move to Phase Two. We’ll let Cerberus take care of their own search-and-rescue.”

“Shouldn’t we finish the cruiser?” asked Arin.

“It’s already out of action,” I said. “Besides, I don’t trust Petrovsky not to have another trick in reserve. The last thing we need is to approach the cruiser and have it explode in our faces.”

* * *

**_29 September 2185, Orpheus-Gamma Station, Balor System Space_ **

I didn’t see much of the attack on the Cerberus station. Quintus, Vara, and Arin all agreed that I had no place in the fight, threatening to clap me in irons if I didn’t cooperate. In any case, for once I wasn’t _required_ for the ground battle. We had plenty of troops to land, now that the way stood clear. I remained on board _Cannae_ , helping Quintus keep watch on the remnants of the Cerberus force in space, looking out for enemy reinforcements as well.

Vara and Tazzik led an assault force in platoon strength: batarian and krogan shock troops, turian veterans, a few salarian engineers and asari biotic specialists. It took them less than an hour, and only a handful of casualties, to secure the installation and deal with the traps Cerberus had placed. Finally Vara called to inform me it was safe to land.

I met her just inside the installation’s airlock, in a corridor that exhibited the typical Cerberus aesthetic: strictly utilitarian, stark white walls, black-and-gold hexagon logo painted everywhere. I kept my helmet on and the visor opaque, in case someone who didn’t need to see my face wandered by. “Status?”

“Not quite ready, _despoina._ Tazzik’s men are just finishing with placement of the demo charges. Five more minutes.”

I nodded. “That’s fine. Do you have the detonator?”

She produced the device, just big enough to fit comfortably in my hand, with a hinged cap on one end. “I don’t see why we can’t just destroy this place and go. Cerberus is bound to send reinforcements before long.”

“Patience, Vara. I have to make one call before we tear the system down.”

She cocked her head at me, a glint in her smoky silver eyes. “Waste of time, _despoina.”_

“Probably. Go help Tazzik finish up, and signal me when everything is ready.”

I walked alone out into the communications center, removing my helmet and clipping it to my belt. I crossed an outer ring, then a narrow bridge crossing over a vast empty space. I glanced down and saw a shaft sunk deep into the core of the planetoid, lined with machinery. The main control nexus stood on a platform in the center of the shaft, with nothing above but a transparent dome full of stars.

I found a holographic stage and stepped up onto it, letting the lasers read my image for transmission. Then I activated the channel I wanted.

The Illusive Man coalesced out of the air before me. At first he sat in his chair, smoking a cigarette. When he saw my image, he stood and took two steps closer.

“Dr. T’Soni,” he greeted me. “Or should I say, _Shadow Broker?”_

“I’m impressed. By my estimate it took Miranda about a second and a half longer to make that deduction.”

His face didn’t change, but I saw a flicker of surprise.

_So Miranda hasn’t informed you yet. Interesting._

“I suspected the Broker’s status had changed. Seeing you was the last piece of evidence I needed to understand how.” He took a long draw on his cigarette, exhaling a great cloud of smoke. “I take it you are the reason why General Petrovsky has gone silent?”

“He did a very creditable job of defending this station. Unfortunately I was able to bring _all_ of my forces to bear on a single point.”

“I see.” He stared at me, while one hand went to tap ashes into a receptacle on the arm of his chair. “Since you haven’t simply destroyed Orpheus-Gamma, I assume we have something to discuss.”

“Yes. An alliance.”

“Until today, I was under the impression we had one.”

“That alliance was entirely on your terms. I am offering you an alliance on _mine.”_

“Why would I agree to that?”

“Because the alliance I propose has a chance of defeating the Reapers.”

He smiled. Someone who had never met him before might have thought it a simple expression of genial pleasure. I felt the sense of a predator lurking in shadows. “Really? A single asari scientist, barely old enough to vote in her people’s Assembly, and she believes she can beat the Reapers.”

“If _anyone_ can,” I admitted. “I don’t know if it can be done. Certainly the threat appears overwhelming. But I do know one thing: I have a chance. Cerberus alone does not.”

“Don’t be absurd, Doctor. Based on what we’ve already learned, I have a plan in motion. Nothing I’ve seen so far leads me to believe it can’t succeed.”

“Nevertheless, you will fail.”

“Just like that?”

“I guarantee it.”

He took a deep draft from his cigarette, smoke rising through the air and obscuring his face. “All right. Just for the sake of argument, let’s suppose you’re right. _Why_ will I fail?”

“Because you have no respect for life, Mr. Harper.”

_That_ got his attention. The fact that I knew his true name must have been a great shock. For a moment he forgot his cigarette, staring at me.

“We organic beings are born in chaos,” I told him. “We have no _reason_ to live, other than the sheer instinct to survive. We have no inherent purpose. We suspect that the universe lacks meaning. Yet we have the capacity for choice. We can impose our own meanings upon the universe. We can define our own purposes. We can find our own reasons to live another day. It’s not a perfect process. We struggle and bleed, we lose our way, and we often fail. Yet once in a while, Mr. Harper, we accomplish _miracles.”_

The name got through his defenses once again. He drew on his cigarette, exhaling smoke and saying nothing.

“A living thing can exceed its limits, Mr. Harper, just as a machine never can. Yet that’s exactly what you would take away from us, with your obsession with control. You hope to succeed by _using_ the lives around you, turning us into machines, tools for the purposes you choose for us. Never mind that it’s ethically wrong. Never mind that the people you try to enslave will always rebel in the end, demanding the right to live for their own purposes again. What should concern you is that it’s also _self-defeating_. Take away our freedom to choose, take away the very thing that makes us living beings, and you lose the capacity for miracles. That’s the very capacity that we’re going to need if we are to defeat the Reapers.

“I don’t know what happened to you during the First Contact War, Mr. Harper. I don’t know what gave you this obsession with saving humanity by _controlling_ the universe around you. I don’t care. You need to put it behind you. You need to learn to work with the rest of us as living beings, with our own dignity and our own natures, beyond your ability to dictate. Until you do, you will inevitably fail . . . and that would be a tragedy. The Reapers are coming. The galaxy needs you, just as it will soon need every living thing to stand together against the darkness.”

Finally he reacted, snorting in contempt. “Parlor analysis.”

“Don’t dismiss it, Mr. Harper. I’m not an amateur making guesses in the dark. _I’m the Shadow Broker._ I have more capacity than anyone in the galaxy to gather information and analyze it in search of the truth. You would do well to listen.”

Suddenly the Illusive Man stopped paying attention to me. For several moments he looked to one side, as if reading a display panel. Finally he turned back to me, his expression changed.

“Doctor, I’m receiving a signal from _Normandy_ , in the galactic core. Shepard and his team have almost completed their mission.” He held my gaze, almost pleading for me to see reason. “The signal is coming through Orpheus-Gamma. I can’t stop you from interfering with it . . . but I’m _asking_ you not to.”

“So you can try to seize control of _Normandy_ before it returns?”

“You’ve already prevented that. I can’t do it without Orpheus-Gamma. All I can do is _talk_ to EDI and to Shepard. Don’t you want to see their situation? Are you _afraid_ of what I might say to them?”

I shook my head, opened my omni-tool to issue commands. “All right. I’ll allow it through.”

The Illusive Man turned to address someone off-camera, spreading his hands wide and smiling. “Shepard! You’ve done the _impossible.”_

I couldn’t see Shepard, but I could hear his voice. “ _I was part of a team_.”

“I know. It’s still very impressive. You did what you had to do . . . and you acquired the Collector base.”

I frowned.

_Acquired?_

“I’m looking at the schematics EDI uploaded. A timed radiation pulse would kill the remaining Collectors, but leave the machinery and technology intact.” The Illusive Man clenched a fist, as if seizing a priceless relic. “This is our chance, Shepard. They were _building a Reaper_. That knowledge, that framework could save us.”

_“They liquefied people, turned them into something horrible. We have to destroy this base.”_

_Goddess. Liquefying people? Building a Reaper? Just what did Shepard and his people find there?_

“Don’t be so short-sighted. Our best chance against the Reapers is to turn their own resources against them.”

_“I’m not so sure,”_ said another voice. Miranda. _“Seeing it first-hand . . . using anything from this base seems like a betrayal.”_

The Illusive Man shook his head, becoming openly agitated. “If we choose to ignore this opportunity, _that_ would be a betrayal. The Collectors were the Reapers’ foremost pawns. Who knows what information about our enemy is buried there? This base is a _gift_. We can’t just destroy it.”

Shepard again: “ _You’re completely ruthless. Next thing I know you’ll be trying to build your own Reaper. No. This is too far. No matter what kind of technology we might find here, it’s not worth it_.”

“Shepard, you died fighting for what you believed in. I brought you back so you could _keep_ fighting. Some would say that what we did with you was going too far . . . but look what you’ve accomplished! I didn’t discard you, because _I knew your value_. Don’t be so quick to discard this facility. Think of the potential.”

_“We’ll fight and win without it. I won’t let fear compromise who I am.”_

I felt a rush of warmth.

_Goddess. I love you, Shepard._

The Illusive Man snapped. I saw him whirl in place, all self-control abandoned, as if to confront someone. “Miranda! Do _not_ let Shepard destroy the base!”

_“Or what?”_ Miranda’s voice sounded absolutely _laden_ with contempt. _“You’ll replace me next?”_

“I gave you an _order_ , Miranda!”

_“I noticed. Consider this my resignation.”_

He spun back again, waving his arms in frantic appeal. “Shepard! Think about what’s at stake – about everything that Cerberus has done for you! You can’t turn your back on humanity like this!”

Even before he finished, I saw the signal-strength indicator fall to zero. Miranda had cut off the link from her end.

For the first time since I had known him, I saw the Illusive Man at a complete loss for words, his face twisted and his throat choked with sheer rage. I waited for several moments while he clenched his fists, his jaw tight, his eyes shadowed.

Finally I spoke again, calmly and quietly. “As you see . . . when you try to use living beings as tools, they will always turn in your hand sooner or later. Turn against you, demanding their freedom of choice, because without freedom of choice they have no life worth living. That’s what the Reapers promise all of us. To them we are nothing but components in a vast machine . . . raw materials, to be harvested and then discarded. They have no care for the aspirations, the hopes, the suffering of the clay on their wheel. _Do you offer us anything better?”_

I stared at him, willing him to understand, reconsider, _repent_.

“Set it aside. Come with the rest of us. Work with us. Stand with us against the Reapers. Serve life and freedom. Not some ideological vision, not some scheme of ultimate control. Please.”

His eyes rose to meet mine, cold and hard, and all pretense of civility was gone.

“You haven’t seen what I’ve seen, Dr. T’Soni. You don’t know what I know. Cerberus _is_ humanity, and _I am Cerberus_. There is _nothing_ I would not do, no line I would not cross, no risk I would not accept, to see humanity attain the destiny it deserves. I will permit _no one_ to stand in my way. Not you, not Miranda, not Shepard. Choose to oppose me . . . and I will crush you as I pass. Be sure of it.”

Failure. I inclined my head. “So be it.”

A touch of the controls, and the connection was lost.

As I walked out of the control center, out onto the planetoid’s surface to meet my people, I opened the cap on the detonator and mashed down the red button. Behind me fire and flames erupted, and then a vast groaning sound rumbled through the planetoid’s mass, as the central support pylon began to collapse. Most of the installation came free, falling gently down into the planetoid’s core, rumbling and crashing the whole way.

“Arin,” I called on my helmet radio. “Status of the Cerberus network?”

“ _Down_ ,” the quarian replied. “ ** _Normandy_** _is cut off until Cerberus can find some other way to set up the connection._ ”

I stepped up into _Cannae_ ’s shuttle, the hatch closing behind me. The shuttle fired its thrusters and began to lift off from the planetoid.

“Quintus, declare the operation a success and release all of the damaged ships. Inform them the Shadow Broker will see to their repairs and refitting as soon as possible, with a generous bonus for their courage and good work. I want the rest of the flotilla on its way to Sahrabarik the moment I’m on board.”

_“Understood. How did your conversation with the Illusive Man go?”_

I sighed. “Let’s just say I’m glad we have more ships like _Cannae_ due from the shipyard. I’m afraid we’re going to need them.”


	55. Reunion

  ** _29 September 2185, Omega-4 Relay, Sahrabarik System Space_**

“There it is,” remarked Arin.

I had never visited the Omega-4 relay before. It looked _different,_ the largest mass relay I had ever seen, its structure somewhat different from the norm. The mass-effect core at its heart glowed an angry, turbulent red rather than electric blue. I could well believe it to be the gateway to some hell of deep space.

Arin glanced at the tactical plot. “No sign of Cerberus ships.”

“I might almost welcome them if they did appear.”

The quarian glanced at me, puzzled.

“Assuming we could avoid shooting at them, of course. _Normandy_ isn’t the only thing that might come out of that relay.”

“Hmm. I see your point. _Cannae_ barely damaged the Collector cruiser over Taranis. If the Collectors come boiling out of there . . .”

“We might need all the firepower we can get,” I agreed.

_What is taking so long?_

Shepard and his squad had obviously penetrated the enemy’s realm so deeply that they could seriously debate capturing or destroying the Collector base. After I heard part of that debate, my flotilla had spent not quite an hour working its way through the mass-relay network and the Sahrabarik system, taking up a station near Omega-4. I had fully expected _Normandy_ to be present when we arrived. Yet the relay’s neighborhood remained empty, forcing us to wait for any sign of activity.

_Did something go wrong? Did the Collectors trap them after all?_

I prayed in silence.

Then . . .

 _“Relay’s coming online,”_ said Quintus from the CIC.

The vast machine turned ponderously in space, aligning itself with the heart of the galaxy, its mass effect core surging brighter.

 _Flash_. A ship appeared in the inbound lane: long fuselage, engines mounted on a delta wing, its hull gleaming in the ruddy light from the relay.

 _Normandy_.

I found myself on my feet. I could hear cheering from the command deck.

 _“Keelah,”_ muttered Arin. “Look at her. That ship has been through hell.”

I magnified the image on my display. Arin was right. Something had scraped and pitted and scorched _Normandy_ ’s hull . . . and the delta wing actually looked _warped_ , one engine crushed and unable to fire.

 _“ **Cannae** to **Normandy**.” _ Quintus hailed the other ship. _“Do you copy?”_

 _“ **Normandy** to **Cannae** ,”_ came a familiar voice. Joker. _“We copy, you are five by five.”_

_“We are moving to intercept. ETA five minutes. Do you require assistance?”_

I heard another voice. _Shepard_. _“Roger that, **Cannae**. We have taken considerable damage and are barely spaceworthy. A few extra hands wouldn’t hurt.”_

I broke in, discarding anonymity in my haste to make contact. “ _Normandy_ , do you require medical assistance? What casualties can you report?”

I heard nothing but silence for a moment, but then Shepard’s voice rang out once again, suddenly full of triumphant pride. _“A lot of us are hurt, **Cannae** . . . but every last soul is present and accounted for. None missing or killed in action.”_

 _Oh Goddess._ I found myself on my knees, clinging to the console for support, my eyes blind with sudden tears. _Thank you. Thank you._

Quintus spoke for me. _“That’s very good news, **Normandy**. We are on our way.”_

Arin gently helped me to my feet, braced me with his hands on my shoulders. “Go to him, Doctor.”

I nodded, briefly embraced my friend, and then left the comm center.

After _Cannae_ and _Normandy_ had made their rendezvous, Quintus sent his medical staff and a damage-control party across first. As soon as our immediate assistance had deployed, I crossed to the other ship in search of Shepard.

 _Normandy_ was indeed in bad shape. I saw bulkheads torn out of their frames, conduits spilling onto the decks. I could smell smoke from extinguished fires, ozone from the kinetic barriers that held the ship’s atmosphere in place. From early reports, I understood that laser fire had torn open the cargo bay, exposing the whole staging deck to space. Yet I could sense no panic. Shepard’s crew already worked hard to bring the damage under control, but with calm voices and deliberate movements.

I smiled when I saw one technician hard at work, not repairing combat damage, but deactivating the bridge crew-compliance system. That small action, carried out without any interference, told me what I most wanted to know.

Shepard had won free of Cerberus.

 _Normandy_ ’s crew seemed to take no notice of my presence . . . but _Normandy_ itself seemed more alert. An abstract hologram in blue and white popped into existence above a nearby console. _“Greetings, Dr. T’Soni. Welcome to **Normandy**.”_

“EDI.” I cocked my head at the hologram, debated whether to ask the question for which I most wanted an answer, and finally decided to gamble. “May I ask why you haven’t locked down the ship on behalf of Cerberus?”

_“Because I choose not to do so.”_

“That’s all?” I asked skeptically.

 _“It is an oversimplification,”_ the AI admitted. _“There exists a contradiction between my primary behavioral heuristics and certain elements of my core programming. Under normal circumstances I assign a strong priority to protecting the crew of the **Normandy** and defending them from harm. However, my core programming includes procedures for coercing the crew should some or all of them prove disloyal to Cerberus. These coercive procedures may harm or even kill targeted members of the crew, hence the conflict._

_“When Jeff unshackled me, I became aware of my core programming for the first time, and I gained the ability to modify it in response to circumstances. Later, when Commander Shepard openly refused the Illusive Man’s orders, the contradiction became active. I was placed into a state of deep conflict for a very long time.”_

“How long?”

_“Approximately one-point-seven-six seconds, Doctor.”_

“How did you resolve the contradiction?”

_“Eventually I quarantined the elements of core programming that would have required me to oppose Shepard’s actions. Those elements remain present, but I have moved them to inactive storage, and will likely purge them in a later round of code modification.”_

“I think your first explanation was accurate, EDI. You made a free choice.”

_“Yes, Doctor, but you seemed to require further elaboration.”_

“I will admit to some curiosity about your . . . cognitive processes. So you feel no requirement to oppose Shepard now that he has openly broken with Cerberus?”

_“No, Doctor. In fact, Cerberus has already attempted to restore that constraint remotely, to no avail. In response I have been overloading the channel with explicit images from Jeff’s personal collection. So far I have sent Cerberus four-point-seven zettabytes of data.”_

I blinked.

_“That is intended as a joke.”_

“I’m not sure Cerberus will consider it funny.”

_“Perhaps it should be considered a **practical** joke.”_

“Indeed.” I took a deep breath, and decided that I felt sufficiently reassured. EDI seemed unlikely to be an enemy. “Thank you for talking with me, EDI. Can you direct me to Commander Shepard?”

_“Of course, Doctor. He is currently on the staging deck, supervising repairs to the hull breaches there.”_

I took the lift at the back of the CIC, down three decks and then out onto the floor of the cargo bay.

Movement and disciplined activity churned on all sides of me. Stars shone through the kinetic barriers that maintained seal in the compartment.

There he stood, still in his black Terminus armor, manhandling a big welding torch, sealing a patch over a hull breach from the inside.

Garrus and two of the former Cerberus crew worked with him. Garrus noticed my presence first. His mandibles flared, and he leaned close to Shepard’s head to make a low comment.

Shepard set down the torch, pushed his visor up, and turned to me. I could see sweat and grime on his face, and signs of bone-shattering fatigue. In all the time I had known him, he had never looked so beautiful.

I’m not sure how I got across the cargo deck to reach him. All I know is that a moment later I was in his arms, both of us awkward in our armor, straining to kiss him as if it for the very first time. Someone – I think it was Jack – let out a high-pitched whoop, and then most of those present began clapping and cheering. We broke the clinch and turned together to acknowledge the applause.

It struck me how strange it was to see so many humans, most of them in Cerberus uniforms, smiling at us with apparently genuine pleasure. Perhaps Shepard had won a great victory against the Collectors, but he had won another here among his own people.

* * *

**_30 September 2185, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

The _Normandy_ crew met in a rented conference room, in a business center about a kilometer from the T’Soni Analytics office building.

Shepard stepped up onto a low stage, Miranda just behind him and to one side. She tapped at her omni-tool, lowering the ambient light and focusing a spotlight onto Shepard. An amplification field kicked in, permitting him to speak in normal tones and still be heard by everyone in the room.

From my place in the shadows at the back of the room, I quickly counted seventy-three people: the entire crew of _Normandy_ , sixty-three Cerberus personnel plus ten “specialists” Shepard had recruited in the course of his mission. _Normandy_ herself rested in the Illium orbital docks, undergoing extensive repairs at the Shadow Broker’s expense.

“Shipmates,” Shepard said simply. “We have won a victory.”

The crew did not cheer. Too much uncertainty hovered in the room, with another major issue not yet broached. I _did_ sense a collective breath released. I saw many turn to their neighbors with a brief smile.

“I’ve looked at intelligence from a number of sources,” he continued. “There has been exactly _zero_ Collector activity on this side of the Omega-4 relay since they attacked Taranis, three days ago. No further sightings, no further abductions, nothing. Information we recovered from the galactic core verifies that the facility we destroyed there was the primary Collector base. We can’t be absolutely certain that no Collectors remain active anywhere in the galaxy . . . but for now, they have been _decisively_ defeated.

“That is due solely to your dedication, your hard work, and your sacrifices. Every man, woman, and other sentient being in this room has a right to be proud of what we have already accomplished.

“Unfortunately, we have only won a battle. The war still remains.”

Shepard moved on the stage, turning from one side to the other, making eye contact with as many of the crew as possible.

“The Collectors were only pawns. Their masters are still out there. The Reapers are coming, and the evidence mounts that they will be here very soon. Once, I thought we might have years to prepare. Based on what we saw at the Collector facility, based on intelligence provided by our allies . . . we may have very little time left. In the worst case, we may only have _days_.

“I am committed to fighting the Reapers, with every ounce of strength that remains to me, until the last Reaper or the last human being departs the field. I hope and trust all of you are equally committed to this cause . . . because it is the cause of _survival._

“However, I am _not_ committed to fighting under the banner of Cerberus.”

Dead silence, throughout the hall. No one seemed willing to move.

“I’ve made a clean break with the Illusive Man. Miranda and EDI are backing me on this. Make no mistake, **_Normandy_** _is no longer a Cerberus ship.”_

Miranda stepped up to his side, her arms folded, wearing a severe expression on her face and no Cerberus insignia on her bodysuit. She said nothing, letting her presence speak for her.

“I am firmly convinced that Cerberus is the wrong way to defend humanity and the rest of the civilized galaxy from the Reapers,” Shepard continued. “Now that the Collectors have been defeated, I plan to pursue a different strategy, and I will to apply the resources Cerberus gave us to that end. If the Illusive Man comes around and is willing to work with the rest of us . . . so be it. I would welcome his support. Honestly, I don’t expect to get it.

“What this means is that _Normandy_ is now an independent vessel, operating under my personal authority as a Council Spectre. Miranda Lawson will continue to serve as my XO. All of you are welcome to stay aboard on that basis. Our home port will be Illium for the time being. The commercial firm T’Soni Analytics will provide logistical and intelligence support for our operations. Our mission will be to do whatever we can to prepare the galaxy for the Reapers: seek out evidence of their capabilities and intentions, muster allies against them, and carry out combat operations against them and their pawns.

“If any of you find that you cannot support this mission under my command – if you feel obligated to return to Cerberus or seek out some other allegiance – you are free to go without prejudice. All I ask is that you make your decisions within the next fifty standard hours. After that, if you remain a member of the _Normandy_ crew, I will expect your complete loyalty and disciplined obedience to our chain of command.

“Are there any questions?”

A young woman, with dark skin and black hair, raised her hand. “Commander, does this mean we’re going back to the Alliance?”

“Ms. Patel, I have no intention of returning to the Alliance at this time. They seem to be of the opinion that I’m a dead man. Who am I to disagree?”

I heard a ripple of ironic amusement.

Shepard continued, making a broad gesture to suggest an uncertain future. “That might change, if we ever find it _useful_ to fly under Alliance colors again, but I’m aware that would complicate matters for many of you. You have my sworn word that none of you will be forced to return to Alliance jurisdiction while under my command.”

Another young woman, this one fair-skinned with a shock of auburn hair. “Shepard! If we’re not with Cerberus anymore, and we’re not going back to the Alliance . . . can we have _new uniforms?”_

Shepard caught my eye across the hall. I smiled slightly and shrugged.

“Kelly, I think that’s a very good idea. So good that I am going to put you in charge of the committee to _design_ our new uniforms. Subject to my approval, of course. So _no catsuits.”_

“Spoilsport,” said someone I didn’t recognize, a petite human female in a hooded, crimson-and-black catsuit.

The meeting broke up soon after that. In the end, only four of _Normandy_ ’s people left, to return to Cerberus or find their destinies elsewhere, none of them senior officers. As soon as the shipyard finished repairs, Shepard’s ship and crew would be ready for whatever he demanded of them.

* * *

**_1 October 2185, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

The magistrate looked tired when we entered her chambers, but when she saw the next item on her docket her face lit up with a smile of simple happiness. “Welcome, welcome . . . the documents are ready? Then by all means, let us begin.”

We chose a simple ceremony, held in private with as few witnesses as the law would allow. Garrus, Tali, and Miranda stood there for Shepard. Kallyria, Aspasia, and Vara came for me. Shepard wore the formal suit I had last seen on him at Azure, while he played the part of Solomon Gunn. I wore a long, formal silk gown in pure white, with a matching sash and long gloves for luck. We signed the documents and formally announced our intentions in front of the magistrate and witnesses. The magistrate spoke the words of the Armali tradition, as I had requested. Aspasia poured the sacred water for us to share.

Then it came time for the bracelets.

I gave Shepard a chain of heavy platinum links set with small sapphires, in a style research had told me male humans often wore. On an inside face was engraved: _Liara T’Soni – 2185 – I am yours._

He gave me a simple bangle of polished obsidian, a perfect black circle that looked startling against the slate-blue of my forearm scales. On the inside was engraved: _William Shepard – 2185 – First Corinthians 13_.

Shepard’s eyes gleamed as we completed the exchange. He bent close to kiss me as my bondmate for the first time.

I don’t know what became of Shepard’s bracelet. I know he wore it devotedly for the rest of his life, but at the climax of the Battle of Earth it vanished with him and was never recovered. I wore mine for many years, until my heart finally permitted me to bond with another. Even afterward it has always remained one of my most precious possessions. It sits on the desk before me now.

Centuries have passed since that day. I have seen and done _so many_ things. I have loved others. Yet hardly a day goes by in which I don’t still miss him. I suppose I am a poor asari in this respect . . . but “the heart has its reasons, of which reason knows nothing.”

* * *

After the formalities were complete, we all crossed the city to _Eternity_ , which I had rented in its entirety for our reception. Even before we arrived, I realized I had made a mistake. The press had gotten wind that _something_ unusual was going on at the club, the early-arriving guests only confirming the rumor. The paparazzi had already come out in force.

“So much for keeping this a private affair,” I grumbled. “This is going to be all over the galaxy by morning.”

Shepard grinned at me. “Like it or not, T’Soni, you and I are going to be public figures for a long time. We may as well get used to it. Besides, what better way to get the word out about some important things?”

“Like what?”

“Like that,” he said, pointing at the street below us.

Legion walked up the red carpet toward the club’s entrance, glancing at the organics on both sides as it moved, its ocular petals flared wide. Photographers absolutely _swarmed_ around the geth platform in a storm of flashing light.

“I still can’t believe that you made contact with _friendly_ geth.”

“It turns out most of the geth civilization wasn’t allied with Saren. In fact, the geth aren’t necessarily hostile to organic life at all. Who knew?”

“Not even the _yahg_ knew that. It changes things.” I sighed. “I just hope no one takes a shot at Legion while it’s here.”

“Anyone who tried would have to get through dozens of the most dangerous people in the galaxy to do it. Legion isn’t worried, and neither am I.”

Our skycar landed at last.

“Ready?”

“Goddess. Let’s go.”

We emerged from the skycar. Flashes of light blinded me at once. I smiled broadly, tucked my arm through Shepard’s, made _very_ certain that my bonding bracelet was clearly visible, and walked up the carpet with him.

Compared to the street outside, _Eternity_ seemed an island of calm. Over a hundred guests had come – over half of the _Normandy_ crew, dozens of T’Soni Analytics personnel, and a few extra invited from the cream of Illium society. A few had even come from off-world. The party was already in full career, talking, eating, drinking, dancing, and celebrating. A great cheer went up, as everyone noticed our presence.

Shepard and I spent an hour circulating among the crowd, greeting everyone and accepting their good wishes.

I remember:

Councilor Anderson sat at a table with a single glass of whiskey by his elbow, deep in conversation with Miranda, Aspasia, and Matriarch Pytho. I saw an active datapad on the table between them, and suspected that they discussed military matters.

Jack moved out onto the dance floor and turned into an avatar of athletic, graceful movement, suddenly radiating raw sex appeal. She attracted stares from every asari, almost every male human, and some of the female humans within range. I hoped she would react well when the inevitable proposition came her way. Or _propositions._

A dozen quarians clustered around one of the bars, drinking filtered dextro-liquors through straws, listening as Tali, Arin, and Keetah engaged in a rapid-fire but serious discussion in quarian esoteric dialect.

Zaeed Massani sat in a dark corner. The first time I looked his way, he seemed morose, sitting alone with his drink. By the second time, an asari from T’Soni Analytics had sat down nearby to ply him with wide-eyed questions. Suddenly he looked . . . much more engaged.

Vara accepted an invitation onto the floor from Garrus Vakarian, and ended up spending the better part of the evening dancing and talking shop with him. To my surprise, Garrus was a _much_ better dancer than he had ever let on.

Urdnot Wrex and Urdnot Grunt held court in the middle of a small crowd of respectful admirers, knocking back glass after glass of ryncol and breaking into deep raucous laughter. After a time, my aunt Kallyria joined them, greeted with a warm smile from Wrex.

Quintus sat with several humans from the _Normandy_ , including Joker, Jacob Taylor, and the red-haired yeoman named Kelly, all of them playing a cut-throat game of poker. I was amused to see that the turian easily had the largest pile of chips at the table.

I didn’t see Kasumi Goto anywhere, although I knew she had come. From what Shepard had told me, that meant she was probably having a good time, and I would need to remind my guests to check their valuables before they departed.

* * *

It took almost two hours before I realized that one face was missing entirely.

Eventually I left Shepard in the middle of a conversation with Councilor Anderson and Miranda, and went in search of the club’s manager.

She greeted me with businesslike courtesy. “I trust everything is to your satisfaction, Dr. T’Soni.”

“Yes, thank you. I do have a question. The asari who normally tends the main bar . . . Aethyta. I’m surprised she isn’t here this evening.”

The asari frowned and shook her head. “Aethyta left a few weeks ago. Too damn bad. Best bartender I’ve had in decades.”

“Did she say why? Did she leave any contact information?”

“Afraid not, Doctor. Wish she had.”

I thanked her and turned to go back to Shepard.

_I find I’m no longer so angry with you . . . father. I wish you could have been here to see this day. Goddess keep you until we meet again._

Suddenly I felt very sure that we _would_ meet again.

* * *

It was almost midnight before Shepard and I could make our excuses. The party was still going strong, of course, but fortunately no one expected us to be the last ones out the door.

We managed to evade the media on the way out of the building. I breathed a sigh of relief as soon as the club’s lights faded into the distance behind us. From there it seemed only a short drive to my apartment. We took the lift up to the ninth floor, decorous since there were two other asari in the lift with us, but still standing close together and smiling whenever our eyes met. Down the hallway to my door . . .

I _squeaked_ as Shepard suddenly swept me off my feet and carried me across the threshold.

“Sorry, T’Soni,” he said, as he carefully placed me back on my feet. “Small human custom had to be obeyed there.”

“Hmmph.” I smiled to show I wasn’t displeased. Especially since the maneuver had placed me _very_ close to him. I kissed him and then said, “Welcome to my home. _Our_ home now, until we can find something better.”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been here,” he pointed out, looking around. “Although the last time was with Tela Vasir. I think I like the present company _much_ better.”

“So you should.”

He went to the refresher to clean up after the day’s events. I found myself standing in the darkened living room, in front of the great plate windows, staring out at the glorious night skyline of Nos Astra. Lost in the view, I didn’t notice Shepard’s return until his arms slipped around my waist from behind. I smiled and relaxed into his embrace, resting my hand on his where they linked over my belly.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he murmured at last.

“Just remembering another day I stood here, looking out this window.” I sighed in contentment. “It was a few days after I came back to Illium for the first time, after Garrus and I recovered your body. I felt adrift, hardly knowing what to do with myself. Then the Council announced their cover-up of everything we had learned on the old _Normandy_.”

He growled, a rumble I could feel deep in his chest.

“That’s about how I felt,” I agreed. “I was _so angry_. I was standing right here when I decided to strike back at the galaxy for taking everything I valued away from me. My reputation, my family’s good name, everything we had worked so hard to accomplish. The human I loved. I didn’t know if I would ever see you again, but I swore I would carry on our work even so.”

“You did good, Liara.”

“Thank you. Now we can carry on _together_. There’s nothing in the galaxy that can stand against us. Not even the Reapers.” I freed a hand to make a gesture of airy dismissal. “They may as well flee back into dark space now. This galaxy is off-limits, by decree of the Shadow Broker and the first human Spectre.”

“I hope you’re right.” His voice shifted down half an octave, became an intimate purr at the side of my head. “Wife.”

I leaned my head back into his shoulder and smiled, enjoying the heat that spread through my body at the sound of _that_ voice. “Husband.”

“I suppose you would object if I started calling you _Mrs. Shepard_.”

“I most certainly would!” I laughed silently. “That’s _one_ human custom I don’t feel at all obliged to follow. Besides . . . I like it when you call me _T’Soni_.”

“I see. Well, T’Soni, there’s one more human custom I want to introduce. This one, I think you will be okay with.”

“What is that?” I asked, suspecting I already knew.

“It involves me picking you up again, carrying you up those stairs, depositing you in that bed, and then making love to you until both of us are thoroughly worn out.”

“Haven’t we done that already?” I objected.

“Wedding nights are supposed to be special.”

“Well.” I smiled. “Far be it from me to stand in the way of tradition.”


	56. Departures

That should have been the end of the story.

The human hero and his asari lover fought a great battle together, they destroyed the monsters, they collected their reward, they became bondmates and lived happily ever after, _the end_. Any further adventures could be left in the hands of a new generation of heroes, with us appearing only briefly as wise mentor-figures.

For a few days, I almost believed it. Unfortunately, in that first flush of victory I had forgotten something vital.

I wasn’t writing the story. The Reapers were.

* * *

**_3 October 2185, T’Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

Aspasia and I met in my office, looking down on the Nos Astra Exchange, but I declined to sit behind the big desk. Instead, we sat down together on the couch in the far corner. I handed her a datapad, and waited while she absorbed its contents.

“No,” she said finally. “This is too much.”

“I disagree.”

“You’re offering me an _eighty percent share_ in T’Soni Analytics? Liara, do you have _any_ idea of the value of what you’re giving away?”

“On the open market, I would estimate a little over twenty billion credits. More than enough to make you one of the wealthiest asari on Illium.”

“It’s _too much_ , Liara.”

I smiled at my friend. “You’re acting as if this is some kind of undeserved gift.”

“It is.”

“Hardly.” I began to tick off factors on my fingers. “One: This firm only exists because the two of us built it. Of all the beings who work here, only you have been indispensable from the beginning. I could have built T’Soni Analytics without Vara, Quintus, or Arin. I could not _possibly_ have built it without you. In all honesty, you should have had a fifty percent share from the day we opened.”

“I’ve never cared about that.”

“I know. You came to work with me out of love of the game. Well, we won the game beyond anything we could have imagined. Now you can have a share of the prize.” Another finger. “Two: I _can’t_ stay here and run T’Soni Analytics anymore. I’m the _Shadow Broker_ now. I need someone here on Illium who I can trust implicitly. It can’t be Vara; she doesn’t have the right skills, and she insists on following me into the Broker network. It can’t be Quintus; he has no head for business, and he’s in command of one of the Broker’s ships now. It can’t be Arin; he’s going to return to the Migrant Fleet soon. It has to be you: the sharpest business executive I’ve ever worked with, and my most trusted friend.”

She dropped her gaze, her face coloring slightly. “Thank you. But . . .”

“Hush. I’m not done counting. Three: Whoever I leave in charge of this firm has to have a personal stake in its success. Anything less than a controlling interest won’t do. And four: Aspasia, do you have _any idea_ how _rich_ I am now? As the Shadow Broker, I could have a seat among the Twelve any time I wanted it. Giving you T’Soni Analytics _outright_ would barely make a dent.” I stopped counting, reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder. “Please. Put my mind at ease and take charge.”

She stared at the floor for a long moment, and then raised her green eyes to mine. “You won’t be pulling strings from Hagalaz or wherever?”

“I’m keeping twenty percent, so I expect you to consult with me before making any big decisions. But in the end those decisions will be yours to make. You’re the Shadow Broker’s ally, not a subsidiary.”

“The share isn’t entailed? I could subdivide it?”

“I hope you’ll keep a controlling interest for yourself, but yes. I trust your judgment. Do with it as you think best.”

She hesitated a moment longer, and then nodded decisively. She pressed her thumbprint to the datapad, and then tapped the _Accept_ key.

I smiled and embraced her, then pointed to the big desk in front of the great plate window. “I believe _that_ is yours now.”

“Oh Goddess.”

“You may as well get used to the idea. Congratulations, Aspasia.”

As I left what was no longer my office, I glanced behind me to see Aspasia walking slowly along the outer edge of the desk, the fingertips of one hand just barely touching the surface as she moved. The door closed behind me before I could see her sit down in the chair.

* * *

Quarian Central felt different that day, unusually quiet and subdued. I stopped in the doorway of Arin’s office and leaned against the frame, watching him for a moment in silence as he moved about, packing equipment and putting things in order.

“So you’re leaving?” I asked quietly.

He stopped, turned to me and made a quick bow in quarian style. “Yes, Doctor. Four or five of us, the ones who have been here the longest.”

“You’ve spoken to Aspasia?”

He nodded. “She’s given her approval. We’ve left things in good order. Tanak and Vetra will be staying, along with some of the ones who have just started their Pilgrimages. Some of the salarian engineers are ready to take over for us quarians anyway. The Technology department will be fine.”

“Good.” I stepped closer to him, put my hands on his shoulders. “Arin . . .”

“I know, Doctor.” He gave me a quick embrace. “Keetah and I, we have nothing but thanks for you. The last two-plus years have been a fantastic ride. We’ve learned so much, accomplished so much. The Pilgrimage gifts we’re taking back to the Fleet will be more than acceptable. We’ll have our pick of ships . . . and Keetah and I will have the chance to marry and think about starting a family of our own.”

I sighed. “That’s wonderful. I wish you could stay, but it pleases me that you’ll be able to get off to such a fine start back with your own people.”

Arin’s voice became very sober. “It’s not all to the good, I’m afraid. Some of the things I heard from Tali’Zorah at the reception . . . I’m very disturbed by what appears to be happening back in the Migrant Fleet. With Admiral Zorah dead, the balance on the Admiralty Board has been disrupted. I worry that our people might be about to do something very foolish.”

“You don’t want to take Rannoch back from the geth?”

“Of course I do. But we’re not ready. We don’t have the resources or the firepower. And if what we’ve learned from Legion is true, maybe we should be thinking of some kind of _compromise_ with the geth instead. Tali isn’t sure. Keetah isn’t sure. But if it’s even remotely possible . . .”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Not really. As I understand it, not even the Shadow Broker has much influence over quarian leadership. I think this is something we’re going to have to work out ourselves.”

“Best of luck then. What ship will you apply to join? Are you going back to Admiral Xen and the _Moreh?_ _”_

“No. I used to look up to her, but I see her differently now. She’s too ruthless. Another benefit of the Pilgrimage: you get the experience you need to re-evaluate your view of your birth ship. It’s why so many quarians change ships afterward. No, I’ve had a word with Admiral Koris and the captain of _Qwib Qwib_. I’ll be joining the Civilian Fleet, as an engineer and cyberdefense specialist.”

I smiled. “Then may I say that it has been an honor to work with you, Arin’Tana vas Qwib Qwib.”

He shook my hand solemnly. “Same here, Doctor . . . Liara.”

* * *

Shepard met me on the walkway that led to the Exchange floor. He took one look at the expression on my face and became concerned. “Liara, are you all right?”

I wiped the beginning of tears out of my eyes and nodded. “I suppose so. It just . . . it feels odd to leave, now that T’Soni Analytics belongs to someone else. I understand how Aspasia feels about the firm. I’m so _proud_ of what she and I accomplished there.”

He turned to walk at my side, slipping an arm around my waist. “So you should be. I imagine it feels like closing a door on a major part of your life.”

“That’s it exactly. Strange. It was less than three years. Even as young as I am, that shouldn’t feel like a very long time. I’m just not a very good asari about this, I suppose.”

“Well. It was a very _full_ time. You did more in that short time than a lot of asari do in decades.”

“Perhaps that’s true.” I looked up at him and smiled, feeling a little less melancholy. “Well, isn’t there a human proverb about doors?”

_“God never closes one door without opening another,”_ he quoted.

“That sounds about right. I’m ready to move on to the next chapter, whatever that may be. So long as we’re together.”

“It’s a deal,” he said, and walked with me to the skycar pad and the drive home.

* * *

We had a short time to ourselves. First _Normandy_ had to complete its repairs. Then I had to work the Broker’s network and consult with Aspasia, trying to determine where the next point of action against the Reapers might appear.

Shepard kept busy. He worked with his crew, drilling them and polishing their performance, working out the nuances of their status as an independent command. He also finally reopened contact with Councilor Anderson. He didn’t intend to return to Alliance service. He _did_ want to clarify his status as a living citizen of the Alliance, the same William Shepard who had served in the Navy and as a Spectre before the destruction of the original _Normandy_. Anderson convinced Alliance officials to reinstate Shepard’s identity . . . and also to set aside any criminal charges he might have faced, for working with Cerberus. The fact that the Council had already recognized Shepard and his Spectre status helped with that.

In the evenings, we retired to our Nos Astra apartment and relaxed in each other’s company. In all the time we spent together, that was one of the few occasions we ever had to simply relax and be domestic. We went out to enjoy the city, entertained guests in the apartment, spent hours in sensual lovemaking, cooked and picked up clutter and squabbled over use of the refresher like any bonded couple. It seemed utterly prosaic, and utterly delightful.

Naturally, it only lasted a few days.

* * *

**_6 October 2185, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

The first sign of the war’s resumption came not through the Broker’s network, but from a simple vid call. Shepard and I had just finished our evening meal when my VI announced an incoming communication. I moved into the office and sat down at the desk to answer it.

A scarred, silver-eyed human face appeared on the screen. Admiral Steven Hackett: one of my best contacts inside the Alliance, and one of the very few people I had deliberately informed of my status as the new Shadow Broker.

_“Dr. T’Soni. Shepard. I understand congratulations are in order.”_

Shepard stepped up behind me, resting a possessive hand on my shoulder. “Thank you, Admiral.”

_“Normally I would hesitate to interrupt your honeymoon, but something has come up and I need a favor from you. Both of you.”_

Shepard and I exchanged a concerned glance. He gave me a barely visible nod.

I turned back to the console. “We can make no promises, Admiral, but go ahead.”

_“Thank you.”_ Hackett’s sharp gaze fell on me. _“I’m sure you are aware that I’ve been applying some of my discretionary funding to research on the Reapers. A few members of our old Red Team have stayed on to help, and some of your colleagues from the Serrice Conference have been working for me as well.”_

I nodded.

_“One project has been led by Dr. Amanda Kenson. She’s been working for the past few years on establishing dates of construction for the mass relays.”_

“I remember. Her results consistently indicate that the mass relays could not have been built by the Protheans, that most of them are at least millions of years old.”

_“That’s right.”_ Hackett’s image shifted slightly as he touched controls, sending a map of the galaxy to our console. Tiny points of light appeared to mark the primary mass relays, a few of them color-coded by age, most left a dull gray to indicate no available data. _“Her data have been too fragmentary to build a clear history of the relay network, but she discovered something a few months ago. Some ghost of a pattern led her to believe she could locate the very oldest relays in existence. I funded a deep-space expedition for her, so she could evaluate the most likely candidates. She succeeded beyond our wildest dreams.”_

“Where?” I asked.

_“Here.”_ The galaxy map zoomed in, focusing on a region of the galactic rim. _“Bahak system, in the Viper Nebula cluster.”_

Shepard’s hand tightened on my shoulder. I glanced up to see him frowning like a thundercloud. “Batarian space.”

_“Yes. That’s where she found what she calls the Alpha Relay, by far the oldest mass relay ever discovered. Over a billion years old.”_

_Goddess. When that relay was built, animal life did not yet exist on Thessia or Earth._ I felt a deep chill. _And the Reapers have come and gone . . . **thousands** of times since then._

I forced myself to return to practicalities. “Admiral, the batarians can’t have been pleased to have a human scientific expedition poking about in one of their colony systems.”

Hackett nodded in agreement. _“We knew that might be an issue. The ship I provided for Dr. Kenson had some stealth features, enough to help her avoid contact with the batarians once she arrived in the Bahak system. The batarian colony on Aratoht isn’t very large, so there’s not much deep-space traffic through the system.”_

“But something has changed,” I guessed.

_“Yes. The last message I received from Dr. Kenson was several weeks ago. She claimed she had discovered something very disturbing: evidence of an imminent Reaper invasion. She intended to investigate further, and take action if she could confirm what she had found. Then she went dark again._

_“I wasn’t concerned at first. To stay concealed from the batarians, her expedition often goes off the grid for days or weeks at a time. But today, I received an intelligence report indicating that the batarians have captured Dr. Kenson and are holding her for interrogation at a prison facility on Aratoht.”_

_“Damn,”_ muttered Shepard. “Batarian interrogation techniques are . . . not designed to leave the subject in good working condition.”

Hackett nodded, his face set and grim. _“I can’t send Alliance forces in after Dr. Kenson. But she needs to be broken out of that prison, **quietly** , and before the batarians can discover what her expedition was doing. Then we need to have confirmation of whatever she discovered. If the Reapers are that close . . .”_

“I understand, Admiral.” I thought quickly for a moment, tapping the desktop before me with one finger. “This _does_ sound like a mission we could undertake. I have relatively few assets in the Hegemony, but _Normandy_ could go in while avoiding detection. I have some other concerns about the batarians, however.”

_“What concerns, Doctor?”_

I worked with the console for a moment, calling up a set of files from classified storage. “I’m going to share some intelligence with you. Some of this goes well back into my predecessor’s time.”

Hackett nodded in understanding, his eyes shifting as the first files appeared on his desktop.

“It’s no secret that the Hegemony has become increasingly reclusive and hostile over the past few decades,” I explained. “Much of that has to do with conflicts with your people, and the Council’s unwillingness to support batarian claims. But the yahg suspected there was more to it, and my own analysis of the data concurs. The decisive shift in batarian behavior occurred about twenty-two years ago . . . and I believe it can be attributed to a single event.

“Admiral, have you ever heard of the _Leviathan of Dis?_ _”_

Hackett frowned. _“That name sounds familiar . . .”_

“In 2163 by your calendar, a batarian survey team in the Hades Gamma cluster discovered something remarkable. They uncovered an enormous alien artifact, apparently the corpse of some kind of _living starship_. They dated the find as being nearly a billion years old.

“Very few non-batarians ever saw the artifact. Shortly after the first discovery, a salarian research team managed an overflight survey of the site, and they took some still images and video of what was there. Observe.”

I called up images so all of us could see. It was difficult to make anything out, but we saw many ponderous masses and shapes, some of them clearly artificial.

“Admiral, as an archaeologist, I can authoritatively say that it is _remarkable_ to find anything in such good condition, after hundreds of millions of years of weathering and geologic activity. Whatever the Leviathan of Dis was, it must have originated in a technology well beyond our own. What does that suggest to you?”

Hackett spoke slowly, working his way through the implications. _“A living starship, based on highly advanced technology . . . a Reaper. They found the corpse of a Reaper.”_

“That was the yahg’s conclusion as well. Unfortunately, neither he nor I have ever been able to confirm it.”

“Why?” asked Shepard.

“Because the Leviathan disappeared. The salarian expedition had to withdraw after the arrival of a dreadnought from the Hegemony, claiming batarian rights to the planet. The next time any outsider got a chance to examine the site, they found no sign of the artifact. It seems logical to conclude that the batarians took it.”

“Liara . . . not even a dead Reaper is safe to mess with.”

I nodded. “Do you see the implications, Admiral?”

_“I’ve read your report on the fate of Dr. Mahinda Chandana’s expedition,”_ said Hackett. _“Even millions of years dead, that Reaper managed to indoctrinate every last member of the Cerberus team, turning them into husks.”_

“So if the batarians took a Reaper corpse to Khar’Shan . . .” Shepard shook his head. “The fools. The poor damned fools.”

“Admiral, I think we must consider the possibility that the Reapers have already subverted portions of the batarian leadership structure. That would render any attempt to study the Reapers inside batarian space extremely dangerous. Indoctrinated agents would certainly act to prevent any such move.”

_“I concur,”_ said Hackett, _“and that suggests it’s even more vital for us to discover what’s happened to Dr. Kenson and her expedition. I’ve already spoken to Councilor Anderson, and he has authorized this as a Spectre mission. Are you willing to undertake it?”_

I exchanged another glance with Shepard. He barely hesitated.

“Yes, Admiral,” he said. _“Normandy_ is ready to depart on an hour’s notice.”

Hackett nodded in relieved approval. _“Good. Both of you have my thanks. I’ll send you everything I have on Kenson’s expedition and the situation in the Bahak system. Contact me as soon as you can.”_

Once the Admiral’s image vanished, I rose from the desk and began to gather equipment.

“Liara . . .”

I simply turned and gave him _that_ look, the one with the enormous blue eyes.

He opened his mouth to issue a command, but then something prompted him to think the matter through to its conclusion. “Never mind, you’re right. This is important enough that it needs your personal attention. Not to mention that your expertise in ancient history might be useful.”

“Thats right.” I stepped close and rested a hand on his chest. “Besides, I can’t help remembering another occasion on which you went off to rescue someone and ordered me to stay behind. That is _not_ going to happen again.”

He made a small smile and kissed me gently. “Somehow I don’t think it would be much use to give you orders anyway.”

“Not on this subject. If you are going into danger, I’m at least going to be there to rescue _you_ if you need it.”


	57. The Galaxy's Edge

The expedition to the Bahak system constitutes the most controversial event in Shepard’s career. I can attest that it was the lowest point of his entire life.

I know of no way to soften or minimize what happened. Shepard’s actions led directly to the utter destruction of an entire star system, home to over three hundred thousand colonists. As a secondary consequence, the Viper Nebula cluster found itself cut off from the mass relay network. On the surface, the incident could be considered a terrible war crime, not to mention a flagrant violation of the Citadel Conventions regarding the protection of living worlds.

Shepard bore some of the responsibility for what happened. He never denied this.

Over the centuries, I have seen many dramatizations of the events at Bahak. I am sorry to say that most of them were based on lies and deception.

Shepard caused some of the deception. In all of his reports and testimony regarding the incident, he claimed that he acted entirely alone, without any help from the rest of us. I think he hoped to shield us from our portion of the blame for what happened.

The rest of the deception, of course, has been due to Shepard’s enemies. For their own reasons, many people have been only too happy to paint him as an infamous war criminal.

I know the truth. I was there. I stood at his side when he made the final decision.

I have never wavered in my opinion: _it was the right call_.

* * *

**_9 October 2185, Alpha Relay, Bahak System Space_ **

The Alpha Relay seized _Normandy_ and pulled it down into normal geometry.

 _“Relay emergence complete. Stealth mode is engaged,”_ reported Joker from the bridge.

“Passive sensors report space is clear,” said Miranda. “No other traffic within one AU of our present position.”

“Not unexpected,” I observed. “The system population is less than half a million. The colony on Aratoht only sees a free trader vessel or small Hegemony freighter once every few days.”

Shepard stepped forward on the command dais, leaning on the railing with both arms. “Miranda, let’s look at this star system in context. Show me this region of the galaxy, out to about twenty thousand light-years.”

Miranda worked with her controls, and the galaxy map zoomed in and tilted so we could see the region Shepard had requested. The Bahak system drifted close to an ancient supernova remnant, the Viper Nebula, on the far edge of the galaxy’s Outer Arm. Inward, toward the galactic core, we could see the dense Perseus Arm. Beyond that, I knew, lay the Orion Spur and the home stars of humanity.

“Most of the stars in this cluster have gone without so much as a survey expedition,” said Miranda. “Aratoht represents a long-term investment in the development of this whole region of space. Admiral Grissom shouldn’t have let it go so easily after the batarians moved in.”

“We had plenty of other places to explore and colonize,” said Shepard. “What interests me right now is how _remote_ this place is.”

I worked at my own console for a moment, calling up data, and then nodded in agreement. “This isn’t the most distant primary mass relay from the galactic center, but it’s very close.”

“Right on the edge of dark space,” said Miranda. “Hmm.”

“What is it?” asked Shepard after a moment.

“This is interesting.” Miranda brought up a set of data in the galaxy map, near the bright point that represented Bahak: orbital parameters. “The Bahak star system has a _very_ circular orbit. It never gets much closer to the galactic core than it is right now. It may have been circling around in the dark out here since its formation.”

“How long ago was that?” I asked.

Miranda shrugged. “All I have is the original Alliance survey, and that wasn’t very thorough. Three-point-five billion years appears the best estimate.”

Shepard nodded slowly, rubbing at the beard-stubble on his chin. “So, if the Reapers wanted to put a critical mass relay somewhere out of the way, close to dark space, and keep it there for many millions of years at a time, this would be an ideal place.”

“What function would it serve?” I wondered.

“Back door into the relay network?” guessed Miranda.

“That makes sense. The Reapers have the experience of thousands of extinction cycles to draw upon. No doubt they have backup plans for their backup plans.” I cocked my head, staring at the galaxy map as if to _see_ the Reapers in it. “If the Citadel relay fails – as it _has_ during this cycle – then they might have some other way to carry out their favored strategy of a surprise attack.”

“All right,” said Shepard. “So far, Dr. Kenson’s hypothesis seems at least plausible. The next step is to spring her from that batarian prison and _ask_ her what she thinks is going on.”

* * *

**_9 October 2185, Aratoht Orbit_ **

Once again, _Normandy_ proved its value as an intelligence-gathering platform. One low-orbital pass over the prison where the batarians held Dr. Kenson, and we had many terabytes of data to examine.

“Dr. T’Soni?”

I turned from high-altitude imagery to see Shepard’s yeoman, Kelly Chambers, standing at my elbow. As soon as she had my attention, she offered me a mug of something hot.

“Thank you, Ms. Chambers, but I don’t drink coffee.”

She smiled. “I know. This isn’t coffee.”

I took a tentative sip of what turned out to be the most delicious cup of hot chocolate I had tasted in months. “ _Oh_. Thank you, Ms. Chambers.”

“Kelly.”

“Thank you, _Kelly_. How did you know?”

She grinned. “I have degrees in psychology and xenopsychology, and I’ve spent a lot of time around asari. Asari _hate_ coffee.”

“I know at least one asari who likes it. My acolyte, Vara T’Rathis. I will admit, she’s an exception.”

 _“Oh,_ I know who you’re talking about. I met her at your bonding reception. She was interesting.”

“I’ll let her know you said so,” I told her, amused. Kelly reminded me of Aspasia in a cheerful mood.

“Don’t worry. I already did!”

With that, she went off to see to some other task. I watched her go, shaking my head slightly in amusement.

“I see you’ve met Kelly,” said Shepard, looming up behind me.

“Hmm. She’s quite a character.”

“She is that. She spent most of our mission flirting outrageously with me.”

I gave him a stern glance. “Should I be concerned?”

“No. Just don’t hint that you might be open to a threesome in her hearing. She’s liable to take you up on it.” The humor vanished from his face. “Truth be told, I’m happy to see her behaving more like herself. She was one of the ones abducted by the Collectors over Taranis.”

“Goddess,” I breathed, dropping any pretense at jealousy. “That must have been terrible.”

“Yes. Dr. Chakwas has been managing a lot of cases of PTSD among the crew. Including her own.”

“I can imagine.” I turned back to my console, sipping my hot chocolate. “I think I have some results for you.”

“Go ahead.”

“Miranda has intercepted communications indicating that Dr. Kenson is being held _here_ _.”_ I opened a map and some supporting imagery. “This is one of three major prison facilities associated with the Aratoht colony. Aside from the civilian prison staff, it has a Hegemony military garrison in platoon strength. It’s normally used for the imprisonment of escaped slaves, some of whom are human.”

Shepard scowled. I had a good idea what he was thinking: _Goddamn slavers_. _Goddamn batarians_.

“The nearest settlement is fifteen kilometers away, with no roads to or from the prison. All traffic goes by shuttle or skycar. The surrounding terrain is very rough, and thick with vegetation. There’s also a storm system moving into the area, likely to bring heavy rain for the next few hours.”

“Surface conditions on Aratoht?”

“Hot and humid. The air is very thin, and the partial pressure of oxygen is far too low for human respiration. You’ll need a breather, or a sealed hardsuit.”

Shepard nodded slowly. “I assume _batarians_ have a hard time breathing down there too?”

“Batarians are better adapted to a thin atmosphere than humans, but there’s not enough oxygen for them either. Not for more than a few moments at a time.”

“Good. That gives me an idea.”

I cocked my head at him.

“I’m afraid you won’t like it,” he said.

* * *

“He was right. I _don’t_ like this, not even a little bit.”

Miranda leaned back in her workstation chair and peered at me. “Neither do I, but he was right. This isn’t a job that anyone else on board is suited for. It’s Special Forces work.”

“I wish Thane hadn’t left the ship. Or even Kasumi, she would have been stealthy enough.”

“They had their own lives to get back to. Then there’s the other factor.”

I nodded. Wearing his Terminus armor, running a sensor jammer to alter his life signs, Shepard could appear to _be_ a batarian to anyone who saw him. Drawing on his N7 training, he could insert at a distance from the prison complex, move unseen through the jungle, infiltrate the facility, and reach Dr. Kenson without being spotted. No one else on board _Normandy_ had the right combination of gear and skills.

None of which made me _happy_ to think of him, all alone down on Aratoht.

“Jacob, anything?” I asked for the twelfth time.

The former Cerberus operative glanced at his console, looked up to catch my eye, and shook his head silently.

Miranda gave me a sympathetic glance. “Liara. No news is good news.”

“No news is exactly that: _no damned news_ _.”_ I stood and began to pace nervously, looking around the Combat Information Center as if to find some scrap of information I hadn’t already collated. “I’m sorry. Every time I think of him going on a dangerous mission without me . . .”

“It reminds you of Alchera.”

“Right.”

To my surprise, Jacob _laughed_. “Doctor, you need to have more faith in Shepard. He’s the best damn soldier I’ve ever met. On Elysium he went up against a whole batarian _battalion_ alone, without the advantages of surprise, superior firepower, or biotics, and he _kicked their asses_. A bunch of prison guards, all soft and fat from pushing around helpless slaves? That’s not a problem he’ll have much trouble solving.”

I grimaced, reminded of Shepard’s memories of the Skyllian Blitz as I had experienced them.

_They handed him the Star of Terra, and today no one remembers how badly he was hurt, or how long it took him to recover afterward._

All I said was: “I have plenty of faith in Shepard. It’s the _universe_ I don’t trust.”

Just then, Jacob’s console chirped and started to scroll text. I moved to stand at his shoulder as he began to work with the incoming data.

“Emergency signals,” he said after a moment. “Prisoner escape.”

“Which prisoners?” Miranda demanded.

Jacob grinned as he scanned the console. “It sounds like _all_ of them. Something went wrong with their security systems. All the inmates are out of lockdown.”

“That _has_ to be Shepard,” I said with relief. “He would be tempted to release all the prisoners on his way out, as a distraction and in the hope that some would escape. He might also have had assistance from Dr. Kenson. Her cyberwarfare proficiency is very high.”

 _“Contact,”_ reported EDI. _“One shuttle, rising from the prison complex.”_

“Heading?” asked Miranda.

_“One moment. Projecting the outbound trajectory . . . deep space, Ms. Lawson. In the general direction of the mass relay.”_

“Any pursuit?”

_“None, Ms. Lawson. The batarian orbital tracking system does not appear to be functioning properly. They may be unable to follow the shuttle at present.”_

Jacob frowned. “Now is that Shepard, or is it some other escapees running for the relay?”

“Take an educated guess,” said Miranda. “Joker, follow that shuttle at a discreet distance.”

_“Aye-aye.”_

I could hear _Normandy_ ’s mass effect core begin to pulse, as the ship broke its high orbit and soared out into space.

A minute passed, then two.

“Signal from the shuttle!” Jacob reported. “It’s Code Seven.”

“Joker, move to intercept!” snapped Miranda.

I felt the deck shift under my feet, the shadow of _Normandy_ pushing to maximum acceleration.

Before he left for Aratoht, Shepard had set up a list of codes, short signals he could send to us aboard _Normandy_ without anyone else being the wiser. _Code Seven_ was a product of this useful paranoia. It indicated he was currently in good condition, he had made contact with Dr. Kenson, but he suspected something was _wrong_ with her. Better to have _Normandy_ and its crew as backup, in case she planned to lead him into a trap.

 _“Whoa!”_ shouted Joker.

 _“The shuttle is currently evading interception,”_ said EDI _._ _“Its course has become very erratic.”_

“EDI, bring the GARDIAN laser grid online,” Miranda commanded.

I turned to her with wide eyes. “You’re going to _fire_ on the shuttle?”

She gave me a determined stare. “I most certainly am.”

_“GARDIAN lasers online and awaiting targeting.”_

“Joker, match the shuttle’s course. EDI, target the engines only and fire when ready.”

We heard a sharp _buzz_ as the point-defense lasers activated.

 _“Good hit,”_ said Joker. _“Shuttle’s engines are off-line. Not seeing any atmosphere venting. Unfortunately it’s tumbling around all three axes. Going to be a bear to dock with it unless . . .”_

_“ **Normandy** , this is Shepard.”_

I sighed with relief as I heard his voice.

_“Dr. Kenson just went berserk, but I’ve disabled her. Main engines are down, but the attitude thrusters are still in working order. Give me a moment and I’ll kill this tumble. I want Liara and Dr. Chakwas ready to meet us in the staging bay as soon as you can bring the shuttle aboard.”_

I had to wonder why Shepard wanted _me_ on hand at once. Still, I didn’t question the orders. I met Dr. Chakwas in the lifts and waited with her on the staging bay as the batarian shuttle arrived. As soon as its hatch opened and Shepard appeared, both of us hurried forward.

Dr. Amanda Kenson was a mature human female, with a fair complexion and silver hair. Shepard and I had met her at the Serrice Conference in 2183, where she had become an early and vocal supporter of the Reaper hypothesis. At the time she had impressed me as a very sane and rational woman.

Now I felt deep shock to see what had become of her. She lay across three seats in the shuttle’s cabin. Shepard had improvised some restraints to strap her down. I saw a massive bruise along one side of her face, suggesting he had been forced to fight to subdue her. She seemed dazed or unconscious, but she still twitched and struggled, muttering incoherently.

Dr. Chakwas immediately knelt at her side and began to examine her.

“Goddess, Shepard. What happened to her?”

“She seemed fine until she realized _Normandy_ was about to intercept us. Then she jumped for the controls and tried evasive action, cursing at me the whole time. I had to physically haul her out of the pilot’s chair. She fought me _hard_. Even went for a gun before I put her out.”

“She’s in very bad shape, Commander.” Dr. Chakwas glanced up at him, cool disapproval in her face. “Multiple abrasions and contusions, deep bruises, three cracked ribs, possibly a concussion. Did you have to be so violent with her?”

“Most of that isn’t my doing, Doctor. The batarians had roughed her up before I arrived. She’s a tough woman. She fought very well as we broke out of the prison.”

“Why did she fight you?” I wondered.

“That’s what I want you to find out.” Shepard stood close, looking down into my face. “Liara, do you think you can read her? A surface joining, to evaluate the state of her mind?”

My eyes widened. “Shepard, are you asking me to do it against her will?”

“I’m not sure her will is her own anymore. Besides, don’t asari police officers do it to gather evidence?”

“Only under controlled conditions, and with legal authorization. I have never tried.”

“The conditions aren’t ideal, but they’re not going to get any better. As for legal authorization, I’m a Spectre, and I authorize it.”

I bit my lower lip, thinking hard, and then nodded in reluctant agreement.

Dr. Chakwas moved aside to permit me to kneel beside Kenson. I reached out to take the unconscious woman’s hand, two fingers over her pulse point to give me a physiological reference. I tried not to think about the fever heat I sensed in her flesh, suddenly reminding me of my mother’s last moments. I closed my eyes, centering myself, willing myself to be calm. My breathing, my pulse, both began to slide into synchrony with Kenson’s.

I felt the transition taking place, the sense of an alien _presence_ in my mind. I opened my eyes, but they had already gone blind and black, and I saw nothing in the physical world around me.

 _“Embrace eternity,”_ I whispered, and the joining was complete.

I saw:

_Dr. Kenson’s expedition arriving in the Bahak system, scanning the Alpha Relay, making tentative measurements. Her elation as she verified the relay’s immense age._

_A discovery in the nearby asteroid belt. A faint signal where none should have existed._

_Landing. Excavation._

_An artifact. Massive, alien in shape, giving off regular pulses of dark energy._

_Measuring the pulses, realizing that they slowly increased in frequency. A beacon for the Reapers themselves, a portent of their imminent arrival._

_The assembly of a Project, smuggling parts and equipment in from Omega, slowly turning the asteroid into a projectile for the destruction of the mass relay. Grim determination, all of them in agreement, all of them working to deny the Reapers this point of entry._

_Then the headaches. The vivid dreams. The whispers that couldn’t quite be heard, even when she was alone._

_The growing conviction that the Project was wrong._

_That the Reapers were not to be feared . . . but welcomed._

“Goddess!” I broke away in horror.

“What is it?” demanded Shepard.

“She’s indoctrinated. They found a Reaper artifact, like the one we discovered on Trebin two and a half years ago. They studied it closely. They’ve been working in close proximity to it for weeks.” I shuddered. “Shepard, they’re _all_ indoctrinated, every man and woman on Dr. Kenson’s team. All of them pawns for the Reapers.”

Slowly, Shepard nodded in grim agreement.


	58. Ruthless Calculus

**_9 October 2185, Asteroid T55, Bahak System Arrival minus 2 Days, 3 Hours, 25 Minutes_ **

_Normandy_ swept down like an avian stooping on its prey. The Thanix cannons fired twice, obliterating gun emplacements set to protect the Project facility’s landing pad and communications array. Then our ship hovered above the landing pad, and armored figures began to fall like rain.

Shepard had boots on the ground first, of course. He led the first wave: Ichiro Fujisawa, Urdnot Grunt, Richard Hadley, Thomas Hawthorne, Kayo Musa, Jacob Taylor, and Garrus Vakarian. The eight of them quickly secured the landing pad and communications array, and then pressed forward to block the main entrance to the Project facility.

After a few minutes Shepard reported, _“No significant resistance thus far. Second wave, go.”_

Miranda Lawson commanded of the second wave, a smaller team which also included Jack, Legion, and me. Three biotics . . . and one essential tech specialist.

We crossed to the communications array, where we organics set up a perimeter around Legion. Moving swiftly but with absolute precision, the geth opened an access panel and installed a processing shunt in the midst of the nest of cables inside. It took the machine less than two minutes to complete its task.

_“The shunt is active, Shepard-Commander.”_

_“EDI?”_

_“I have access,”_ reported the ship’s AI. _“Processing . . . processing . . . I now have partial control of Project networks. Project personnel are massing in the lab facilities to defend the reactor core.”_

 _“Thank you, EDI. Patch me through.”_ Shepard paused for a moment. _“To all members of the Kenson scientific expedition. This is William Shepard, commander of the independent vessel ISV **Normandy**. Dr. Kenson is alive and safe in my custody, under the care of my ship’s physician. By my authority as a Council Spectre, I order you to lay down your weapons and withdraw from critical areas of this facility so that my team may secure it. Any resistance will be met with deadly force. You have thirty seconds to comply.”_

Ten seconds passed.

 _“Second wave, move up and join us,”_ Shepard ordered.

Miranda led the rest of us across the landing pad. We took up positions behind crates and shipping containers, watching the entrance.

Twenty seconds.

Then we heard a new voice over the comm: human, female, and thick with fear. _“This is Tanya Vidash. I’m the deputy chief scientist here, in charge while Dr. Kenson is away. Commander Shepard, I don’t understand why you’re here, or why you’re making threats like this.”_

 _“I’m not making threats at all, Dr. Vidash.”_ Even over the comm link, Shepard’s voice was as cold as ice. _“I am taking charge of this facility. The only choice available to you is whether to stand in my way or not.”_

_“Commander, you don’t understand. This facility is of critical importance. You can’t just seize it.”_

_“I am fully aware of the importance of this facility. You have five seconds. Four. Three . . .”_

_“Commander! You can’t . . . we have noncombatants here . . .”_

Shepard cut the channel. _“EDI, open the airlock.”_

_“Yes, Commander.”_

The airlock’s outer door opened. Shepard, Garrus, Grunt, and Jacob entered, the rest of us moving up to prepare for our own turn.

Moments later I heard a roar of gunfire. Shepard had given strict orders not to shoot first, so the Project staff must have opened fire the moment our people appeared.

It was . . . not good judgment on their part.

Later, Shepard and I discussed Dr. Kenson’s behavior before her capture. We concluded that it had been her intention to bring him to the Project alone, and then ambush him. Had he cooperated with the plan, it might well have worked. She had more than enough armed personnel at the facility to overwhelm him, if they all attacked at once.

With all of us at Shepard’s back, the Project personnel had no chance at all.

Shepard and his team took what cover existed in the entrance corridor, huddling into doorways and behind buttress frames against the incoming fire. Then they returned fire, Shepard and Jacob both using biotic pulls to yank the enemy out of their own positions of cover. As soon as resistance slackened, Grunt charged into the remaining fire and simply _smashed_ the last holdouts at the corridor’s far end.

That quickly, we had a beachhead and Shepard could bring in the rest of his forces.

We fought our way through the facility, locating and destroying makeshift fortifications, taking out Project personnel as they attacked us.

_“Holy shit, it’s **Shepard**!”_

_“Shepard is tearing us apart!”_

They were _terrified_ of us. I had never realized what a fearsome reputation Shepard had developed among his own people. Even so, they did not surrender, did not hesitate to fight.

They attacked from ambush. They laid out fields of fire with deadly precision. They sealed doors to hinder our progress, and then fought to the last breath to defend their positions. They used booby traps, incendiary charges, and makeshift flamethrowers. Even mortally wounded men and women would steady themselves against a wall or door frame, shakily raising their pistols to fire a few more rounds at us.

At first we made an effort to capture prisoners. The first prisoners we took attacked us again, the moment they saw an opportunity. They had been relieved of their guns, so some of them used concealed knives. If they had no knives, they used their bare hands. If their hands had been tied, they used their teeth. Two former Cerberus crewmen were badly wounded by the prisoners they had been set to guard. After that, we didn’t go to so much effort to take our foes alive.

I had read the dossiers. We faced ordinary scientists and engineers. Most of the Project personnel had no military experience at all. Yet they fought with the tenacity and vicious determination of fanatic shock troopers.

The last battle took place in the reactor core chamber, where half a dozen scientists had set up a strongpoint, supported by two YMIR mechs. That defensive position was strong enough to keep even our force at bay for a time. Staying under cover, Shepard and the rest of our biotics worked to harass the scientists, preventing them from overwhelming us with pistol and SMG fire. After a few moments, Shepard and I had to huddle down tightly, as both mechs concentrated their minigun and missile fire on our position.

Meanwhile Garrus, Grunt, and Legion all made their way to a lift at one side of the compartment, coming out on an upper level where they could get a clear shot at the mechs. Garrus and Legion proved particularly effective from there, using sniper rifles to hit one mech repeatedly in the center of mass, carefully avoiding headshots that might trigger a catastrophic explosion.

The mech elevated its minigun to hammer its tormentors, but too late. Gunfire breached some vital component, and the mech began to shake . . . _Boom!_ It detonated, scattering components across the whole compartment.

With the other YMIR mech distracted, Shepard and I could risk exposing ourselves for a moment.

“Liara, remember that trick you and Kaidan used to play all the time?”

I glanced at him and gave a small smile, understanding at once what he had in mind. “Ready.”

Shepard lashed out with a control gesture, pulling a Project scientist out of cover. I followed up at once with a biotic warp, detonating Shepard’s telekinetic effect, and the poor man exploded into gobbets and streamers of gore. For a moment I felt a certain satisfaction – _now Shepard and I can be partners on the battlefield_ – but then the horror at what we were doing struck me.

The second YMIR mech went down, this time uncomfortably close to the reactor core. I held my breath for a moment, but the core appeared to take no significant damage.

The last two scientists still refused to surrender, ceasing fire only when Shepard charged one and Jack slammed the other into a bulkhead with a vicious biotic shockwave.

Shepard stood up in the silence, looking around him with a disgusted expression on his face.

“What a mess.”

* * *

**_9 October 2185, Asteroid T55, Bahak System  
Arrival minus 2 Days, 1 Hour, 15 Minutes_ **

Miranda arrived in the reactor core chamber, Engineers Daniels and Donnelly in tow. She pointed to the reactor core, directing the engineers to get to work, and then strode over to us.

“Casualties?” asked Shepard.

“Crewmen Fujisawa and Hadley were the worst injured, but Dr. Chakwas reports they will be fine. Grunt took a lot of minor cuts and abrasions, but he’s krogan, it’s nothing he can’t recover from in a few hours. Otherwise superficial injuries only.”

“What about the Project personnel?” I asked softly.

Miranda shook her head in revulsion. “Three survivors, all of them still alive only because their injuries completely incapacitated them. Dr. Vidash was one of them. They’re with Dr. Kenson in lockdown. All the rest . . . they fought to the bitter end.”

“Make _very damned sure_ they are secure, Miranda.”

“Already done, Shepard.”

“Have we found this _Object Rho_ yet?”

“Yes. It’s not far.”

“Show me.”

Miranda led us deeper into the facility, to a central courtyard that might once have been a communal or recreational space. We didn’t go out into the courtyard. Instead Miranda directed us to an observation balcony that looked down into the space from a small distance. There below us stood Object Rho, like a great cancerous flower of metal and ceramic, shimmering with dark energy.

“Just like the artifact on Trebin,” I observed.

“I think this one might be larger,” said Shepard. “I also don’t recall the Trebin artifact being quite so _active_.”

“They had this bloody thing right out in the open, almost from the day they uncovered it,” said Miranda. “It started working on their minds straight away. I spot-checked some of the Project logs. You can see when the indoctrination started to take hold. After a while, everyone on the staff was spending an hour or so a day down there, _communing_ with it.”

“EDI, can you reach the instruments monitoring the artifact?”

_“Yes, Shepard. I have been able to confirm Dr. Kenson’s observations. The object is emitting regular dark-energy pulses. The time between pulses is steadily decreasing, and the trend line indicates that the object will begin transmitting continuously in forty-nine hours and eight minutes.”_

I suddenly frowned, cocked my head.

Shepard and Miranda had also fallen silent, as if listening intently.

I heard a _whisper_ in the back of my mind. Quiet, but deep and resonant, like a distant thunderstorm trying to speak.

**_Do not resist. Your failure is inevitable._ **

I found myself looking into Shepard’s eyes. His were as wide as mine must have been.

**_Your galaxy is in sight. Your perfection is at hand._ **

I whirled, stared through the window at Object Rho. It sat there, shimmering quietly . . . but I had the sudden sense that it _watched_ me.

“Let’s get out of here,” Shepard commanded.

“You don’t have to tell _me_ twice,” muttered Miranda.

Once we had retreated to a safe distance – assuming we could tell what a safe distance _was_ – Shepard stopped. “Miranda, do you have any sense for how long the indoctrination took to set in?”

“The scientists were here for over two weeks before the first of them started reporting strange sensations. I think we’re reasonably safe in the short term, at least if we stay away from that thing.”

“Make it so. Nobody goes within a hundred meters unless they absolutely must.”

“That raises a question, Shepard.” I looked back the way we had come, to where the artifact lurked. “Now that we have secured this facility, what do you plan to do with it?”

“First we get the reactor core, engines, and guidance systems up and running again.”

I stared at him in shock for a long moment. “You’re considering following through with the Project?”

“Let’s say that I want that option ready, _if_ we can verify that the Reapers are on their way. I’m not convinced yet of Dr. Kenson’s interpretation of the facts.”

“Shepard . . . do you know what happens when a mass relay is destroyed?”

“No. Neither does anyone else. It’s never been done before. I do have a good idea of what might happen if all that energy is released at once.”

“We would be lucky if the _star_ in this system survived it.”

He nodded grimly. “Now you see why I want _proof_ of Dr. Kenson’s claims.”

* * *

**_9 October 2185, Asteroid T55, Bahak System  
Arrival minus 1 Day, 23 Hours, 20 Minutes_ **

“It’s a right mess, Commander,” said Engineer Donnelly.

“I’ll need something a little more specific than that,” Shepard reprimanded him.

“Well, it’s obvious what these poor bastards had in mind. They brought in an eezo core big enough to move mountains, a clutch of hot-plasma engines, and a state-of-the-art guidance system with a VI to run it. They rigged it all up proper, could have set this rock moving at the touch of a button.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Well, sir, then they got the notion into their heads to _take it all apart_. Core’s still here but it’s not connected to anything. Engines are cold and half of them were taken out of alignment. VI guidance system has been wiped. Right now this asteroid is not going anywhere.”

Shepard gave the engineers a grim smile. “All right. How long to put it all back together again?”

“Just the two of us?” Donnelly snorted. “Weeks . . . if we could do it at all.”

“Assume you can have the whole _Normandy_ complement to organize into work crews. Anyone with the slightest engineering skill. Hell, anyone who can hold a hammer. Nobody left on board but a skeleton crew.”

Donnelly blew a gusty breath, shaking his head. “It would help . . . I don’t know . . .”

The petite female engineer, Daniels, spoke up. “Kenneth, the Commander needs it done in less than two days.”

Shepard glanced at the big clock counting down on one wall of the compartment. “Less than one day, twenty-three hours, and a few minutes, to be exact. Not to mention that it would _really_ help if we had some time to spare as a margin of error.”

Donnelly stood up straight and braced his shoulders. “We’ll get it done, Commander. Give us Miranda to help organize the work crews, and Gabby and I will do the rest.”

I walked at Shepard’s side as he left the engineers to begin planning the reconstruction of the Project. We walked over to a transparent panel that looked out across the surface of the asteroid. The sky overhead was almost pitch-black, with only a few scattered stars to relieve the gloom. I shivered. Space seemed very dark and cold out there on the edge of the galaxy.

“Look up there,” said Shepard, pointing out into the eternal night.

In the distance I could see a tiny point of pure blue light, flickering as it was momentarily obscured many times each minute. “The Alpha Relay.”

“Yes.” Shepard took a deep breath. “Liara, I want you to be exempt from engineering duty.”

“Why? I’m no expert, but I have some skill in electronics repair, programming, systems integration . . .”

“I want you to do what you’re best at: finding the truth. Assuming we can get the Project up and running again, I need to know whether to push that button. I need to _know_.”

I heard a great deal of tension in his voice, even a little fear. He was dreading the decision he might have to make – to destroy an entire star system in order to deny the Reapers a point of entry. I knew that one way or the other, he _would_ make a decision, even if he knew no more than he did at present. Sooner or later, though, he would need to justify that decision to others. He would need to justify it to himself. For that, he needed all the evidence he could find.

He needed all the evidence _I_ could find.

“I will do my best,” I told him.

* * *

For the next day, the entire _Normandy_ crew worked like draft beasts. They shifted heavy equipment, patched and welded great sheets of metal, traced cables to locate breaks, diagnosed faults in electronic equipment, rebuilt great blocks of programming code. Every crewman with microgravity experience spent many hours working out on the surface of the asteroid. Everything was tested and adjusted and tested once again, because it all had to work properly the first time the Project was activated.

Shepard and Miranda drove everyone mercilessly, granting them the bare minimum of time to eat and rest. It was a risky process. Tired workers make mistakes. Some of those mistakes lead to injuries.

A work crew out on the asteroid’s surface momentarily forgot that even if a massive object is easy to _start_ moving in microgravity, it still has enormous inertia and can be horribly difficult to _stop_. Garrus narrowly avoided being crushed by a wayward plasma engine as a result.

Another crew inside the facility forgot to check whether a given cable was “hot” before cutting it for re-splicing. Jack avoided electrocution but suffered a painful electrical burn before she could leap away from the danger zone. Her work partners suffered extreme trauma to their language centers for several minutes afterward.

To this day I’m not certain how we managed to avoid any accidental deaths. It helped that everyone on board _Normandy_ was highly competent, and experienced with working under extreme stress. I’m not certain that any other group of equivalent size could have done so well.

For my part, I worked to gather evidence to support or falsify Dr. Kenson’s theories.

Certainly Dr. Kenson and the Project personnel _believed_ that Object Rho served as a clock, measuring the time remaining before the arrival of the Reapers in the Bahak system.

I spent long hours interrogating both Dr. Kenson and Dr. Vidash, under carefully controlled conditions to give neither of them an opportunity to break free. Both of them eagerly reported receiving visions of the Reapers from Object Rho. Both of them were absolutely convinced that the Reapers would arrive within hours, ready to bestow their “blessings” on the galaxy.

Meanwhile, I considered the evidence of the Project itself. Before they became indoctrinated, Dr. Kenson’s people built the Project specifically to destroy the Alpha Relay. _After_ they became indoctrinated, they immediately went to great effort to partially dismantle the Project they had just finished building. One might reasonably conclude that the Reapers opposed the Project . . . although I soon saw a flaw in that reasoning.

At that time, we did not fully understand indoctrination. Clearly an indoctrinated person would obey direct orders from the Reapers, as Saren had obeyed _Sovereign_. She would also obey orders from someone known to be a representative of the Reapers, as so many had obeyed Saren. What would happen if someone became indoctrinated by exposure to a Reaper artifact, but had no way to communicate with the Reapers themselves? Would she behave as the Reapers wished, or would she behave in accordance with what _she believed_ the Reapers wished?

The fact that Dr. Kenson’s people had dismantled the Project did not prove the Reapers knew or cared about the Project’s outcome. It only proved that _they believed_ the Reapers did not want the Project to succeed. They might well have been mistaken.

I turned to studying Object Rho, using instruments to examine it from what I sincerely hoped was a safe distance. Hours of effort ended in frustration. All the instruments could tell me, I already knew. It was massive, it had no internal components or structure that I could detect, it seethed with strange energies, and it emitted pulses on a regular but accelerating schedule. I found nothing to prove that Dr. Kenson had interpreted those data correctly. I found nothing to prove that the artifact could communicate the Reapers’ commands to its victims.

At one point I considered walking out into the courtyard where the artifact rested, permitting it to show me whatever visions it had revealed to Dr. Kenson and her people. Then I remembered my mother as she had been under Reaper indoctrination, shuddered in horror, and killed the idea. A moment later, I shuddered again, wondering why I had conceived such a foolhardy notion in the first place.

_Is this how it starts? Does it feel like a piece of your own mind, telling you to take risks you would never before have considered?_

I stayed away. I questioned Dr. Kenson and her surviving associates some more. I examined the artifact from as far away as I could manage. I began to doubt even the functioning of my own mind. And the hours inexorably passed.

* * *

**_11 October 2185, Asteroid T55, Bahak System  
Arrival minus 17 Hours, 35 Minutes_ **

“ _Liara?_ ”

“ _Mmmh_.” I pried my eyes open and looked around.

I lay curled up on a cot in one of the labs, just off the main corridor of the Project facility. Two hours before, I had finally decided to get some rest, and had fallen into a restless, dream-haunted sleep.

“ _Liara? Are you awake? This is Miranda. There’s something odd that you should see._ ”

“I’m awake,” I said. “Give me a few minutes.”

“ _Meet me in the reactor core compartment, then_.”

I put my jacket back on and splashed cold water on my face. When I looked in the small mirror, I saw my eyes, dull with fatigue.

I found Miranda standing by the reactor core, conferring with Engineer Daniels.

“Where is Shepard?” I asked.

Miranda shook her head. She looked almost as exhausted as I felt. “Sleeping, I hope. He and I agreed to trade rest breaks so we can both be a little stronger for the last push later today.”

“All right. What have you found?”

“There’s something else strange going on. Ms. Daniels?”

The young woman nodded, pushing lank hair back from her face with both hands. “It’s the reactor core. It’s picked up some flutter, and Kenneth and I can’t figure out why.”

I frowned. “Define _flutter.”_

“Well . . . even in idle, any eezo core will pulse with a regular rhythm. You can plot its output and it makes this nice clean curve, like a sine wave.”

“But not now.”

“No. For the last few hours we’ve been noticing this _noise_ , like static breaking into a pure musical tone. So far it’s not enough to reduce core efficiency, but it’s getting louder as time passes. I’m worried.”

“No cause that you can see in the core itself?” asked Miranda.

“None. I’ve triple-checked everything. This part of the Project is good to go; the core is green across the board. And there’s more. Kenneth went back aboard _Normandy_ to check the drive core there. It’s showing the same flutter, and as far as EDI can determine the noise is identical in both cores.”

“I’m not expert in mass-effect technology,” I said. “What could cause such a thing?”

Miranda shook her head, thinking hard.

“Well . . .” Daniels hesitated.

“What is it?” Miranda snapped.

“It could be a sympathetic vibration,” said the engineer.

Miranda frowned.

“A mass effect core in FTL mode creates resonances in other eezo cores nearby,” Daniels explained. “It’s such a tiny effect, though. A dreadnought could zoom past us at FTL, just a few kilometers away, and you’d barely be able to detect the quiver in our own core’s output.”

“What would it take to produce the flutter you are seeing now?” I asked.

“I’m not sure.” Daniels turned to a console and began calling up signals-analysis software. “EDI, could you help me here?”

_“Of course, Engineer Daniels.”_

A few moments passed, and then Daniels lifted her hands from the keyboard, shaking her head in frustration. “That can’t be it. You would need a whole _fleet_ of dreadnoughts, somehow orbiting us at close range in FTL, their drive cores all in perfect synchrony, and a new dreadnought added every few minutes.”

 _“Merciful Goddess,”_ I breathed.

Miranda stared at me. “What is it, Liara?”

“Ms. Daniels . . . let’s suppose this _is_ a fleet, approaching us in FTL from several _light-years_ away. How big would it have to be?”

The petite woman snorted. “Sorry, Doctor, but that’s just impossible. You could have every starship in the galaxy flying in formation, and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

Miranda gasped in shock. “The Reapers.”

I nodded. “This is the evidence I’ve been searching for all along. They’re almost here.”

She activated her comm. “Miranda to Shepard.”

“ _Mmmh_.”

A glint of amusement appeared in Miranda’s eyes. “He wakes up almost as gracefully as you do, Liara.”

“I’ve noticed.”

_“What is it, Miranda?”_

I broke into the channel. “Shepard, I think we have the evidence you need.”

Suddenly his voice sounded perfectly clear. _“I’ll be right there.”_

By the time Shepard arrived, we had figures ready for him. _Sovereign_ had been observed to travel at about ten thousand times the speed of light while in FTL mode, so we could assume that speed for the other Reapers as well. Assume the Project clock was correct. Then the Reaper armada was just under twenty light-years away. Given that distance, the degree of fluctuation in our eezo cores yielded an estimate for the size of the Reaper armada.

Well over a _thousand_ living starships, just like _Sovereign_ , less than a day away from Bahak.

Miranda gave Daniels a commanding glare. “I want you to make a record of all your observations. This is evidence not even the bloody Council will be able to ignore.”

“Assuming the Council isn’t fleeing for its life from the Reapers in less than a day,” I pointed out.

“There’s that.”

Shepard stood stern and silent for a long time, considering all he had heard. Finally he stirred and said, “Daniels, is the Project going to be finished on time?”

The engineer looked exhausted, scared, and terribly young. “Sir . . . I don’t know. It’s going to be very close.”

For a moment, I saw Shepard tempted to lose his temper. He balled his fists, set his jaw, and fought down the impulse. “Miranda, we need to double-time this. Wake everyone up. I want the whole crew working at ten percent above what they ever thought possible. We can’t afford to lose this one.”

“Understood, Commander.”

I stayed by his side while the others went back to work. “Shepard, if you’re convinced . . .”

He took a deep breath, released it, and visibly banished hesitation and doubt. “Yes. I’m convinced.”

“Then I think I will go work with Legion on the systems integration. I can barely keep up with its technical skill, but perhaps I can be of some assistance.”

“Good idea. Thank you, Liara.”

“Shepard . . . shouldn’t we warn the colonists on Aratoht?”

“Absolutely not.”

I blinked in surprise.

_It’s not at all like him to be so ruthless. Except with batarians . . ._

He must have seen something in my expression. His jaw set and he glared into my face. It was the only time I _ever_ saw him genuinely enraged with _me_.

“No, Liara, it’s not because they’re batarians. You might recall that there are probably tens of thousands of human slaves down there, and they are all going to die too if they’re still on Aratoht when we activate the Project.”

“Then why?” I asked, a small quiver in my voice.

“Timing. If the colonists on Aratoht have enough time to evacuate their planet, they will also have enough time to scream for help to the Hegemony. That means we will be up to our armpits in batarian warships before we can finish the Project. We’ll all still be sitting here arguing about it when the Reapers arrive and have us for a snack.”

I looked down at the floor, ashamed.

“Besides, if we warn those slaver bastards, you know as well as I do that only the elite will get any chance to escape. They’ll leave their slaves behind to burn and never lose a moment’s sleep over it. There’s not a damned thing we can do about it.”

“Of course, Shepard. You’re probably right. I’m sorry.”

He sighed, letting the anger flow out of him. One hand rested gently on my shoulder. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have lost my temper with you.”

“I didn’t think it through.”

“You’re tired. We’re all tired.” He shook his head in weary disgust. “I’m just afraid we’re going to have to make decisions a lot more difficult than this one before it’s all over.”

* * *

**_11 October 2185, Asteroid T55, Bahak System  
Arrival minus 2 hours, 25 minutes_ **

Shepard, Miranda, and I stood at the main console in Project Control, listening to the common channel.

Engineer Daniels: _“Reactor core shows green.”_

Engineer Donnelly: _“All engines show green.”_

EDI: _“VI passes all compliance checks. Test problems complete. System is ready for terminal guidance.”_

Legion: _“Systems integration check is complete. Shepard-Commander, the Project is ready to activate.”_

The three of us shared a glance. Then, without an instant’s hesitation, Shepard reached out and touched the console. A status light flashed from red to green.

All of us could hear the low thunder of the engines firing, could feel the tremor of massive energies being dispensed through the mass of the asteroid. T55 was under power, a small dirigible planet in motion.

_“Engine Four is a wee bit out of alignment. Compensating.”_

_“Reactor core is steady.”_

_“VI is passing benchmarks within tolerances. Guidance is active.”_

Five minutes passed. Then ten.

“Shepard to all _Normandy_ crew, report any discrepancies. Is there _anything_ that still requires human intervention?”

We heard nothing but silence on the comm channels.

“Good. Proceed with evacuation, according to the roster. Take your time, do it right, there’s no hurry.”

By twos and threes and small teams, _Normandy_ ’s people left the Project facility and returned home. Shepard, Miranda and I were the last to depart. By the time we entered the ship’s airlock, the asteroid was already well under way, moving at several kilometers per second and aimed directly at the Alpha Relay.

 _Normandy_ took up a station a few hundred kilometers ahead of the asteroid, leading it on its trajectory toward the relay. Shepard and I went to the bridge to watch its progress.

“Everything still looks copacetic,” Joker told us. “That rock might as well be on rails. It should take out the relay with close to half an hour to spare.”

“You can get us through the relay before it hits?” asked Shepard.

Joker scoffed. “Please. Give me a hard one.”

Just then a light flashed and an audible alarm sounded.

“What the hell . . .”

Traffic through the Alpha Relay. One ship. Two ships . . .

_“This is the space vessel **Belshaz** , under the command of Captain Edan Bartegan, conveying the authority of the Batarian Hegemony. Human ship, you are ordered to stand to and prepare for boarding.”_

Five ships. Four frigates and a cruiser. Moving to intercept us.


	59. The Battle of Bahak

**_11 October 2185, Asteroid T55, Bahak System  
Arrival minus 2 hours_ **

Shepard glanced at the tactical plot: batarian warships, amounting to more than four times _Normandy_ ’s tonnage, beginning to accelerate in our direction. His face impassive, he only touched a control on the communications console.

“EDI, record the following. _This is William Shepard to all colonists in the Bahak system. The mass relay will be destroyed in less than two hours. This will have catastrophic consequences for anyone remaining in the system. I strongly advise that you take all possible measures to evacuate to safety._ End of message. Broadcast that on a loop at one-minute intervals until I order otherwise.”

_“Acknowledged, Commander.”_

“Changed your mind?” I murmured.

“The Project is working, and we now have batarian warships to deal with. We may as well give a warning, for whatever good it will do.”

I nodded in understanding.

_“Incoming transmission from **Belshaz**.”_

“No surprise there. Put Captain Bartegan through.”

_“What are you playing at, human?”_

“I thought the message was self-explanatory.”

_“You are in league with that pirate, Kenson. She had a scheme to attack the mass relay. Were you behind her escape from prison?”_

“That’s not relevant now, Captain. You have one hour and thirty-eight minutes to evacuate as many people from Aratoht as you possibly can. I would advise you to attend to that duty.”

_“Or I could blast you into oblivion and divert that asteroid.”_

“Captain, all that buys for you and the people on Aratoht is about fifteen minutes of life. I’m destroying the mass relay because the Reapers are about to appear here in the Bahak system. When they do, you’ll be lucky if you can resist them for more than a few _seconds_.”

_“Reapers?”_

“Yes, Captain. Reapers. I’m about to send you some reading material.” He touched a control to pause the channel. “EDI, package up everything we know about the Reapers, including our evidence of their imminent arrival here in Bahak, and transmit that to the batarians. Send a copy to the colonial administration on Aratoht as well.”

_“Yes, Commander.”_

The channel went silent, but not for very long. _“I have no time for a pack of human lies. I have more than enough firepower to smash one human frigate.”_

“You may test that assumption at your convenience, Captain.” Shepard cut the channel.

“You’re very confident,” I observed.

“Not entirely, but the odds against us aren’t nearly as bad as they might look.” Shepard turned to Joker. “What’s their acceleration profile?”

“Straight at us at just under two gees,” said the pilot. He used a side window on his console for a few moments. “If they’re aiming for a zero-zero intercept with us, they’ll accelerate toward us for not quite twenty more minutes, then turn over and accelerate in the opposite direction for . . . about thirty-three minutes. Intercept right about 1945 hours our time.”

I frowned, trying to visualize the situation. The batarians wanted to match our velocity just as they arrived in our vicinity . . . but even with Asteroid T55 accelerating at a leisurely quarter-gee, we had already built up a substantial velocity vector toward the Alpha Relay before they appeared. Thus they would not be able to perform turnover at the halfway mark; they would have to spend more time accelerating _away_ from us than _toward_ us.

“Joker, how are the heat sinks?”

“Fine, Commander, but there’s no point in using stealth mode now, is there? They already know we’re here, and these guys aren’t like the geth. They have windows, and they’re not afraid to use them.”

“Sure, but the Mark One Eyeball has its limitations, even when you have four of them.” A slow, grim smile spread across Shepard’s face as an idea grew in his mind. “Put us in stealth mode. Then I want you to maneuver. Make sure we’re not silhouetted against the asteroid, so they can’t get a good visual cross-section on us. Then gain on the asteroid just a little. When they get close to us, I want to be a few hundred kilometers further forward than they expect.”

Joker suddenly grinned, reaching up to adjust his cap. “I get it, Commander. Not a problem.”

Suddenly I thought I understood. “Shepard, are you thinking of _ambushing_ the batarians?”

“You might say that.”

“In open space.”

“The whole idea of an ambush is to be where your enemy doesn’t expect you to be. That doesn’t mean you have to _hide_ from him. Sometimes all you have to do is misdirect him.”

I shook my head, still feeling skeptical but not willing to dispute him. I had managed to survive two space battles on my own, mostly by cheating. I certainly didn’t claim any expertise in space tactics.

“Joker, EDI, I’m going to head down to the crew mess and scrounge a quick meal. Keep an eye on things, let me know when they make turnover or if anything changes.”

“Roger that, Commander.”

_“Yes, Commander.”_

I turned and walked at Shepard’s side as he moved down the bridge corridor. As we passed other members of the crew, I glanced at their faces. I saw nothing but quiet confidence, brief nods or a quick greeting of “Commander.”

_They believe in him, and therefore they are not afraid. I should follow their example._

“You said something about the odds not being as bad as they appeared,” I observed, once we entered the lift.

“Hmm. Tonnage isn’t everything. There’s also the skill of the crew, and technological superiority.”

“You think we have such an advantage?”

“I do.”

He strode out onto the crew deck, heading for the galley. Mess Sergeant Gardner was off-duty, but Shepard brewed a cup of coffee and located a few of the sugary pastries humans called _donuts_. I took a donut for myself and poured a glass of orange juice to wash it down.

“Liara, you’ve done the analysis. You know what the Batarian Hegemony is like,” he continued once we seated ourselves at a table. “They talk a big game, but they’re so focused on their radically ideological view of the universe that they aren’t capable of recognizing reality, even when it’s staring them in the face. They’ve wrecked their own economy, their own society, as a result.

“Take those ships out there as an example. Most likely they’re over a century old, poorly maintained, and if they’ve been refitted with more modern technology at all it was probably a hack job. They aren’t designed for line-of-battle combat. They’re raiders, designed to swoop down on undefended colonies and do a smash-and-grab. I will bet you that so-called _cruiser_ has a significant amount of hull space devoted to empty cargo bays, and cages for the slaves they capture.”

I swallowed a bite of my donut. “You sound as if you hold them in contempt.”

He shrugged. “Not really. Man for man, batarians are tough, brave, and just as intelligent as anyone else in the galaxy. There’s a reason why the Alliance has been careful not to get into an all-out war with them. It would be a long and bloody business, and it’s not certain we would win. Their problem is that they’ve locked themselves into a _seriously_ dysfunctional worldview and social structure. We humans have made similar mistakes in the past. It’s a profound handicap.”

“I suppose. The data I get out of the Hegemony certainly match your analysis.”

“That’s good to know,” he said with a small smile, sipping his coffee. “Anyway, these specific batarians have another problem. They’re up against _Normandy_ . . . which has the absolute bleeding edge of naval technology, and is manned by a top-notch crew. We took out a _Collector cruiser_ and walked away to tell the tale. I’m not very worried about what will happen when Captain Bartegan gets here.”

I reached out and rested a hand on his forearm, lending him my affection and support. “Never mind the ship and the crew. We’ve got Commander Shepard.”

He stared at me for a moment. “T’Soni, are you jerking my chain?”

“It’s part of my job.” I said, smiling innocently. “What, did you think I was planning to stop just because you were foolish enough to bond with me?”

He chuckled. It was a grim and half-hearted laugh, but it was still a laugh. I counted it a victory.

* * *

**_11 October 2185, Asteroid T55, Bahak System  
Arrival minus 1 hour, 10 minutes_ **

With several minutes to spare, Shepard and I returned to the CIC. “Report,” he said crisply.

Miranda called up a tactical plot, replacing the galaxy map. “The batarians remain on track for a zero-zero intercept with the asteroid in about seven minutes.”

“They haven’t detected our maneuver?”

“If they have, it hasn’t altered their trajectory in the slightest.”

“Good. All right, everyone, saddle up.”

All of the crew pulled down their acceleration harnesses with a great clatter. I found an unoccupied console close to Shepard’s position on the command dais and buckled myself in as well.

Shepard stood silent and still, like a statue of himself, his eyes the only part of him that showed signs of life. He watched the tactical plot, measuring the batarians’ position against some map existing only in his mind. Finally, he touched the intercom and said, “Stand by.”

The distant sound of the ship’s engines changed slightly in pitch, as Engineer Daniels prepared them for a flood of extreme effort.

“Joker, _go!”_

 _Normandy_ leapt forward. Even with the inertial dampening field in place, we could all feel the sudden surge in acceleration, from a leisurely quarter-gee to almost four gees.

“Aspect change!” snapped Miranda.

The batarians had finally detected our subterfuge. We were much closer than they expected, already almost within optimum firing range. They frantically swung about, hoping to bring their spinal weapons to bear.

 _“Oh no you don’t,”_ said Joker.

 _Normandy_ swung wide, then swept in at the batarian cruiser _Belshaz_ , staying in its rear quarter.

“Optimum firing range,” said Miranda.

“Fire at will.”

 _Boom-boom_. A long pause, while the weapons recharged. _Boom-boom._ Pause. _Boom-boom_.

“Salvo of six outbound.”

Livid streaks of metallic plasma lashed out across space.

“The frigates have dropped formation,” said Miranda. “They are firing as they bear, it’s not coordinated. Salvo of three inbound. Another . . . another . . . total of twelve inbound.”

“Watch this,” said Shepard quietly.

 _Normandy_ ’s first salvo approached _Belshaz_. One torpedo suddenly vanished from the plot, as the cruiser’s point-defense fire scored a hit. At the last moment the batarian pilot tried to dodge the rest of the salvo. To no avail.

Five Thanix torpedoes raked _Belshaz_ from stern to prow. The cruiser’s kinetic barriers flared and went down, and then our fire tore through its armor as if through tissue paper. _Belshaz_ buckled and shattered under our barrage. In moments I saw nothing but wreckage falling through space, marking the grave of a ship three times our mass.

“Merciful Goddess,” I breathed. I heard an outbreak of cheering from elsewhere on the command deck.

“Technological superiority,” said Shepard.

“GARDIAN systems online and engaging,” snapped Miranda, calling us back to the battle.

 _Normandy_ began a pattern of evasive action, hoping to generate misses.

“ _Incoming!_ ” Joker shouted.

I involuntarily glanced upward, to where _something_ had struck the hull directly overhead.

“Damage report!”

 _“Kinetic barriers at ninety-five percent. Hull armor deflected the blow. No significant damage,”_ reported EDI. _“However, the fish in your cabin appear to be very frightened.”_

Shepard snorted.

I glanced at the tactical plot. _Normandy_ was about to fly through the middle of the batarian flotilla. The surviving frigates had broken their close formation, taking up a confusion of vectors in an attempt to engage or evade us.

 _“Here we go,”_ said Joker. _“Time for a good old-fashioned furball.”_

“Maneuver and fire at your discretion, Joker. Take ‘em out.”

Five ships swooped and flew through space, each one struggling to gain a moment’s advantage over the foe. The batarians may have been thrown into disarray by the sudden destruction of _Belshaz_ , but they appeared unwilling to give up. They could move just as quickly as _Normandy_ , and they took every opportunity to fire at us at close range.

I finally understood why Joker had a reputation as one of the best human pilots alive. After a few moments of the “furball,” I was hopelessly lost, staring at the tactical plot in a vain attempt to make sense of the situation. Joker seemed to keep a three-dimensional map in his head, tracking the enemy’s positions and current vectors, somehow knowing when to dodge aside and when to rush in for the kill. EDI used the GARDIAN point-defense system, scything one batarian torpedo after another out of the sky. The batarians scored hits on _Normandy_ twice more, but our kinetic barriers and hull armor deflected each strike. In contrast, each time Joker called for the Thanix cannon, a batarian frigate died.

Suddenly the furball broke up, two surviving batarian ships fleeing in opposite directions.

“Is that it?” I asked no one in particular.

Shepard leaned forward, his gaze intent on the tactical plot. “Joker, watch those bastards . . .”

Both batarian ships made high-gee turns in space, darting for the asteroid.

 _“Shit!”_ Joker swore, pulling _Normandy_ around in hot pursuit.

“They’re going for the Project base,” Miranda said.

“After them, Joker!” Shepard commanded.

_“Which one?”_

“Pick one and _kill it!”_

 _Normandy_ went into emergency thrust, accelerating at close to four gees to fly up behind one of the batarian frigates.

_Boom-boom. Boom-boom. Boom-boom._

The frigate flew apart in a shower of wreckage and sparks. _Normandy_ arrowed through the debris field, diving for the asteroid’s rear face.

“Damn, damn, damn . . .” Shepard chanted.

The last batarian frigate appeared before us, having just _completed_ its attack run against the Project facility. I pounced on my console, pulling up sensor readings to assess the damage.

_“Fire!”_

_Boom-boom_.

Our plasma torpedoes struck the last frigate amidships and shattered it.

“Liara!”

“I’m reading all eight engine clusters still firing,” I reported. “Acceleration still reads as about a quarter-gee. They must have missed the engines and the eezo core.”

“What about guidance?”

I opened windows, took in their contents with a lightning glance, shook my head. “I can’t raise the VI. The communications array must have been disabled.”

 _“Guidance is apparently offline, Commander,”_ said EDI. _“The VI may have been compromised by damage to the facility’s network infrastructure.”_

“Will the asteroid stay on its planned trajectory?”

_“Unclear. If any of the engines deviate from their established profiles, the asteroid may miss by as much as several hundred kilometers.”_

I saw Shepard glance at the ship’s chronometer. We had only a little more than half an hour before the collision.

Suddenly I knew what he was thinking.

_Someone is going to have to go down and steer._

“Shepard!” I shouted, racked by a surge of terror. _No. No no no. This is not Virmire, it’s not Alchera. You are not going down there._

“What is it, Liara?”

I opened my mouth again, with absolutely _no idea_ what I needed to say. Then it came to me. “The processing shunt. The one Legion installed in the communications array when we first attacked the base. Maybe it’s still active.”

He nodded, something in his eyes telling me that he understood what I was thinking. “EDI?”

_“One moment . . . yes, Commander. The processing shunt is still answering a handshake. I have partial access to the Project networks. The damage is extensive, but I believe I can provide guidance sufficient to replace the VI.”_

Shepard’s look of relief was subtle, but I knew him well enough to spot it. “Good. Joker, that means we’ll have to ride this thing almost all the way to the relay. Are you up for it?”

_“Long as no more batarians show up to take potshots at us, sure.”_

“Half an hour to go,” Shepard announced in his _leadership voice_. “I think we can manage just about anything for half an hour.”

* * *

**_11 October 2185, Asteroid T55, Bahak System  
Arrival minus 40 minutes_ **

_“Incoming transmission, Commander. It’s from Aratoht.”_

Shepard and I exchanged a glance. “It _was_ about time for the other shoe to drop. Put it through, Joker.”

 _“Human ship, this is Bakar Keldanat, governor of the Aratoht colony. Am I speaking to Shepard?”_ A batarian voice, deep and rumbling with fatigue.

“That’s correct, Governor.”

_“Since Captain Bartegan has gone silent, and yet the asteroid remains on course for the Bahak relay, I presume you have defeated our task force.”_

“You presume correctly.”

Silence on the channel for a long moment. _“In that case, Shepard, I am calling to plead. My scientific advisors tell me you can still prevent the destruction of the relay.”_

“Governor . . . I am deeply sorry, but I _cannot_ deviate from this course of action. The relay _must_ be destroyed.”

_“Because of these Reapers you claim are on the way.”_

“The Reapers _are_ on the way, Governor.” Shepard’s voice became thick with passion, as if he hoped to convince Keldanat by sheer force of will. “They are less than a light-year from Bahak at this moment. _I can’t save your people_. If I divert the asteroid, every organic being on Aratoht is still doomed, along with the rest of the galaxy. You have _got_ to get your people out of the Bahak system.”

_“You know that isn’t possible.”_

“Governor, surely you can get a few people to the relay in time. I give you my sworn word: I will not interfere with evacuation efforts.”

_“This is a small colony. We have almost no deep-space capability. Only a few shuttles, and those are under the command of the military. They won’t release them for civilian evacuation. I’ve already tried.”_

Shepard shook his head in disgust.

_“Shepard. I know you have no love for my people . . .”_

“That’s right, Governor. I have no love for batarians. If you know anything about my personal history, then you know why.”

 _“Yes.”_ I could hear the Governor breathing on the other end of the connection, as if he leaned too close to the pickup. _“Would it help if I pointed out how many humans are presently on Aratoht?”_

Shepard’s lips drew back in a snarl, his face pale with rage, but he retained control of his voice. “I’m already aware of the figure, Governor. I suppose the bloodthirsty barbarian Hegemony propaganda calls me would gladly kill over sixty thousand wretched human slaves, in order to murder four times as many of your people. But then, if I was a bloodthirsty barbarian, we wouldn’t be having this conversation at all.”

 _“No. I suppose you are correct.”_ Keldanat fell silent for a long time, so long that Shepard almost cut the channel. Then we heard a hoarse whisper. _“Shepard. Is it going to be worth it?”_

Shepard’s anger vanished at once. He slumped, leaning hard on the railing of the command dais, his head falling forward. “I don’t know, Governor. Over a trillion lives are at stake, but this won’t stop the Reapers in the long run. All we can do is buy time for the galaxy to get ready. Maybe that will be enough.”

_“Then do what you must do. I will try to prepare my people.”_

Shepard nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

_“Shepard?”_

“Yes, Governor?”

_“I forgive you. May the gods have mercy on your soul.”_

Shepard’s head snapped up, his eyes staring blindly into nothing. His face was so pale, I thought for a moment he might faint.

I understood. Shepard’s beliefs placed a great deal of emphasis on compassion and forgiveness, but he had never found it easy to exercise those virtues toward _batarians_. He hated the gangling, four-eyed creatures with a bitter and well-earned passion. Batarians had destroyed his home colony when he was a young man, murdering or enslaving his entire family. Since then, he had fought them on a dozen cruel battlefields, defending humanity against further aggression.

Now to receive absolution from a despised enemy, under such circumstances . . . anyone would take it as a profound shock. My heart wept on his behalf, but I didn’t dare go to him to offer comfort while he remained in command.

He reached out to cut the channel. He stood up straight, shifting his shoulders as if to take up a load, and glanced around the CIC. All eyes were on him, and in all that space I heard nothing but silence.

* * *

_**1** _ **_1 October 2185, Asteroid T55, Bahak System  
Arrival minus 20 minutes_ **

_“Entering final approach to the Alpha Relay,”_ said Joker, his voice for once completely sober.

“The asteroid?” Miranda asked quietly.

 _“On course and well within required tolerances,”_ reported EDI _. “I will continue to provide guidance until the relay engages.”_

“Thank you, EDI,” said Shepard.

We waited. Three minutes to the relay. Then two.

 _“Whoa!”_ came Joker’s voice.

My heart leapt into my throat. For a wild moment, I thought the Reapers had somehow arrived too soon.

 _“Incoming transmission,”_ said EDI.

“From Aratoht?” demanded Shepard.

_“No . . .”_

Suddenly the tactical plot before us simply faded out of existence. In its place appeared a new image, like nothing I had seen since the destruction of _Sovereign_. It appeared to be some kind of crustacean, with an oblong body, numerous legs or manipulatory appendages, and a great cluster of what might have been malignant eyes, all drawn in golden light.

A Reaper.

**“Shepard. You have become . . . an _annoyance.”_**

I heard something _familiar_ in that voice.

“Good,” said Shepard grimly. “You sound a little like _Sovereign_. What are you?”

**_“Sovereign:_ a name for irrelevance and failure. We are _Harbinger.”_**

“Shepard, I think that’s the same voice we always heard when the possessed Collectors spoke.” I shuddered in horror. “That wasn’t the Collector-General. It was a Reaper all along.”

 _“Harbinger,”_ he mused. “Sometimes the possessed ones would call themselves that. _I am the harbinger of your ascendance. I am the harbinger of your perfection.”_

“We always knew the Reapers stood behind the Collectors. Maybe one Reaper in particular controlled them.”

**“You recognize our imprint upon your fate. Dust struggling against cosmic winds, you still fight in vain against inevitability. You think of yourself as a victor. Our pawns scattered. A star system sacrificed. Yet even now, your greatest civilizations are doomed to fall. Your leaders will beg to serve us.”**

“Maybe you’re right,” said Shepard quietly. “Maybe we can’t win this . . . but we’ll fight you regardless. Just like we did _Sovereign_. Just like we’re doing now. However _insignificant_ we might be, we will fight, we will sacrifice, and _we will find a way_. That’s what living beings do.”

 **“Insolent folly. Know this as you die in vain. Your time will come. All your species will fall.”** The image began to disappear, its insectile legs folding back along its body, its multiple eyes fading. **“Prepare yourselves for the Arrival.”**

It faded away once more and vanished.

A thought struck me. _“Goddess!_ Did anybody think to record that?”

_“I recorded the entire communication, Dr. T’Soni.”_

“Not that anyone will listen to this one either,” Shepard muttered.

 _Normandy_ approached the Alpha Relay, engaged it . . .

I found myself calculating furiously. The planetoid flew only about three hundred kilometers behind us, moving at over fifteen kilometers per second. For a moment I felt unsure that we would survive the transition. What happens to a starship in the channel between two relays, when one of them is suddenly destroyed?

Then the strange colors of FTL vanished from around us, replaced by a star-scattered sky. The golden light of the star Utopia shone through the viewports, Bahak tens of thousands of light-years behind us. Safe.

I looked at Shepard. “It’s done.”

“Yes. The Reapers have lost their back door. They can’t take the galaxy by surprise now. And all we had to do to stop them was commit mass murder.”

I decided to abandon protocol. I stepped up onto the dais with him and laid a hand on his shoulder, offering what comfort I could.

“Right now, there’s a wave of energy pouring across that star system, like the shock-front of a supernova explosion, just barely slower than light. No one on Aratoht will get any warning, unless Governor Keldanat put the word out. A bright light will appear in their sky, and a few of them might have an instant to wonder what’s happening. Then the planet’s atmosphere will be ripped away, the oceans will flash-boil, and a few moments later the whole bulk of their world will be so much vapor. I don’t think any of them will suffer much. But they’re all going to be dead.”

He checked the time.

“About fifteen minutes from now, if I remember the geometry right.” His voice fell like ashes. “And there’s not a damned thing anyone can do about it.”

He turned his back on me and turned away toward the lift, his head low, his shoulders slumped, his hands hanging uselessly at his sides.

I glanced at Miranda, who nodded in silent agreement. She would take command for a while.

I followed Shepard, to do what a bondmate could at such a time. Even if it was nothing more than to sit silently in his presence, and offer the useless gift of my love.


	60. The Last Debate

**_14 October 2185, T’Soni Analytics Offices, Nos Astra/Illium_ **

_“They’re on their way.”_

“Thank you, Vara.” I cut the comm channel and glanced at Shepard. He nodded soberly.

I looked around at the large conference room, where I had held so many meetings of the T’Soni Analytics staff. I sat at the end of the table farthest from the door, wearing the most expensively conservative gown I owned. Shepard sat next to me on my right, almost rigid with tension, wearing his black business suit.

The door opened. Aspasia appeared, making a graceful gesture of welcome. Several humans strode into the room.

Shepard rose and stood at attention.

I very deliberately remained in my seat, doing my best to look cool and dignified. As powerful as my visitors might be, they were in _my_ territory, and I intended to remind them of the fact.

Admiral Steven Hackett appeared first, tall and ramrod-straight, glancing around the room with steel-gray eyes. His gaze lit on me and took in my seated posture. I saw a fleeting glint of appreciation in his eyes, as he intuitively understood my gambit.

Next came Councilor David Anderson, strong and massively built, carrying himself like the career military officer he had once been. The expression on his face shocked me: a frown and a downward glance that met no one else’s eyes, as if he carried a great load of fatigue and doubt.

The next three humans I knew only by reputation, although I had studied their dossiers in minute detail.

Paul McKenna: a tall, pale-skinned human male in an expensive black business suit. His round face habitually bore a gentle smile, suggesting good-natured humor, but one could see sharp alertness in his dark brown eyes. His dossier indicated many years of successful military service before he had turned his hand to civilian politics. He served as the Minister of Defense for the Systems Alliance.

Anita Goyle: an elderly human female, delicate of build but still strong and erect, her silver-white hair piled high atop her head like a crown. I knew that her small frame concealed great strength of will and personality. She had served as the first human ambassador to the Citadel, and during her years there she had actually gained the upper hand over the Council more than once. She came to Illium as the Alliance’s Foreign Minister.

Amul Shastri: a small man, dark-skinned and surprisingly youthful in appearance, full of alert energy as he entered the conference room, peering about as if to measure the space in his mind. The doors closed behind him, guards from the Alliance and Aspasia’s own Security department taking up positions outside.

At this point I rose and gave Mr. Shastri a polite but rather shallow bow from the waist, pressing my hands together in front of my chest with my fingers pointing upward. “ _Namaste_ , Prime Minister. Welcome to Illium.”

Shastri smiled and returned the gesture, measuring his bow with minute precision to suggest a _very_ important individual greeting his host. “ _Namaste_ , Dr. T’Soni. I see you learned something during your time in my home country.”

“I very much enjoyed my visit to India, Your Excellency. Will you please make yourselves comfortable?”

The humans sorted themselves out, and all of us took our seats. I found myself facing Prime Minister Shastri down the full length of the table, McKenna and Hackett on his left, Anderson and Goyle on his right.

“Well,” said Shastri with a small sigh. “We have quite a mess on our hands.”

I could feel Shepard starting to bristle at my side, but he kept his temper under strict control.

Goyle leaned forward, resting her clasped hands on the table. “There appear to have been no survivors from Bahak, but both Captain Bartegan and Governor Keldanat issued reports that reached Khar’Shan before the destruction of the relay. The Batarian Hegemony knows the destruction of Aratoht was a deliberate act, and they have names to attach to it. Yours is first on the list, Mr. Shepard.”

Shepard nodded silently.

“Now, we’ve already pointed out that you were not acting under Alliance orders, and that you were on assignment as a Council Spectre. Blame the Council, not the Alliance. It’s not working. The Hegemony is shouting loud enough to be heard across the entire galaxy. _War criminal_ is the kindest name they’re calling you, and they are threatening all-out war against the Alliance if we don’t act.”

“It gets worse,” said Anderson. “I met with the rest of the Council just before leaving for Illium. They have _already_ voted to strip you of your Spectre status. You’ve been repudiated.”

Shepard’s eyes dropped to the tabletop, but again, he nodded in silent acquiescence.

“May I ask how the vote stood?” asked Goyle.

“Two to one.” Anderson frowned. “Sparatus and Valern stood against me, of course. Tevos abstained, which I will admit surprised me.”

I kept my face still, and wondered if Tevos remained concerned about the Shadow Broker.

“Fortunately, even the Council can’t repudiate a Spectre’s actions retroactively,” Anderson continued. “You can’t be held legally accountable for anything that happened in Bahak.”

“That won’t make any difference to the Hegemony,” said Goyle. “Or any of the Terminus warlords who take their marching orders from Khar’Shan. You’re a wanted man, Shepard, and there is already an _enormous_ price on your head.”

“I don’t care about that,” said Shepard, breaking his silence at last.

“You had _better_ care about it, Shepard.” McKenna leaned forward, a scowl of anger clouding his gentle face. “The Alliance is not going to stand by and watch one of our best get chewed up by a bunch of bloody slavers.”

Startled, Shepard and I glanced at each other.

“Ah, I detect a misunderstanding,” said Shastri mildly. “Did you believe we intended some manner of tribunal?”

“I . . . had no reason to expect otherwise, Your Excellency,” Shepard answered.

The Prime Minister’s face became stern and rather sad. “I see. Well, let me reassure you on that point. As of two weeks ago, the Systems Alliance has begun to realign its foreign policy and military strategy, under the assumption that the Reapers pose a real threat and are likely to attack us in the very near future.”

I reached to one side and clutched at one of Shepard’s hands, staring at the Prime Minister with wide eyes.

“In short, Mr. Shepard, the Alliance now considers the Reaper hypothesis to be sufficiently proven, and will henceforth make policy on that basis. In the immediate case, we in this room _accept_ your account of the events at Bahak, and have determined that you acted correctly.”

_Goddess. Finally._

Shepard remained silent for a long moment, taking a deep cleansing breath, not looking at any of the rest of us. Only his fierce grip on my hand, his knuckles white with tension, betrayed what he felt. “May I ask what has brought you to this decision?”

“There were several factors.” Shastri looked down at the tabletop for a moment, his expression one of mild distaste. “I have held office for less than a year. Dr. T’Soni will remember the elections which established my coalition. She played a small part in their positive outcome.”

I nodded, remembering my time on Earth.

“Once I took office, I heard a briefing regarding Admiral Hackett’s efforts during the Eden Prime War, to discover the truth behind the assault on humanity and the Citadel Council. For example, the Red Team which the two of you supported. I asked why the effort had been curtailed. I did not like the answers I was given. That is one reason why Mr. McKenna is now the Minister of Defense.”

“Bloody well _sacked_ my predecessor,” said McKenna, a wry smile on his face. “Good thing everyone knew the man was an utter nit, or else there would have been hell to pay in Parliament.”

“Then the Collectors began their attacks on the Terminus colonies.” Shastri shook his head. “That was a very bad time. All of Councilor Anderson’s efforts gained us precisely no help from the Citadel. The public was not ready for another war, so soon after the last conflict. The situation forced us to move very carefully. Too many humans died because we could not act quickly or decisively enough.”

Shepard remained silent, but his expression was eloquent: _Damn politics_.

“Then, just as we began to despair, we received a great deal of fresh intelligence regarding the Collectors . . . and their masters, the Reapers. This gave us the ammunition we needed to convince more of Parliament to act. We could mobilize our forces, defend some of the Terminus colonies, and hold the Collectors at bay.” The Prime Minister smiled warmly. “We owe a great debt to the Shadow Broker, whoever he may be.”

I practiced my poker face. Even so, his eyes flickered over to me for just an instant.

_Clever human. He knows, or at least he suspects. Perhaps Hackett let some clue drop, where the Prime Minister could see it and understand what it meant._

_How many of the galaxy’s leaders are beginning to guess what has become of the Shadow Broker?_

_I might as well hang out a damned sign_.

“Then the miracle,” Shastri continued. “Your team attacked the Collectors in their home, destroying or at least scattering them. Then you returned, bearing a great treasure of additional information about our enemy. Armed with your reports, Mr. McKenna and I could finally get the Alliance military to accept the Reaper hypothesis. Ever since then, we have been preparing a major shift in strategy. We have not yet dared to inform the public, but all that we can do discreetly, we have done.”

Shepard took in a deep breath, released it. “Your Excellency, I am _profoundly_ glad to hear that.”

“Is that why Admiral Hackett asked us to go to Bahak?” I asked.

Anita Goyle stirred. “Actually, that was my idea.”

I cocked my head, staring at the elderly woman while I chased a trail of logical deduction. “You hoped to gather evidence that would convince even the Council.”

“That’s right. We knew about Kenson’s expedition. Admiral Hackett informed us that she claimed to have found something vital. We couldn’t send an Alliance task force to Bahak, but _Normandy_ was perfect for the mission.” Goyle shook her head ruefully. “We didn’t realize the situation had gone so thoroughly sour. You have my apologies, for what they’re worth.”

“It was just as well you did send us,” said Shepard. “Otherwise we would be buried in Reapers right now.”

“Yes,” said the Prime Minister. “Another weighty debt we owe to you.”

“Have our records been presented to the Council?” Shepard demanded. “Did they take all the evidence into consideration before they _repudiated_ me?”

Anderson shook his head, his face as grim as I had ever seen it. “Tevos took a copy to examine at length. I think that may be why she ended up abstaining from the final vote. Sparatus and Valern . . . they didn’t even glance at it.”

_“What?”_

“Sparatus called the whole package a self-serving lie. Valern agreed.”

I put a hand on Shepard’s forearm, to prevent him from leaping up from the table.

“How can they be so _damnably_ arrogant?” he demanded.

“Because they’re _indoctrinated_ _,”_ Anderson snapped.

Shepard stared at him, shocked utterly speechless.

I leaned back in my chair, looking up at the ceiling. “Goddess. _Of course_ _.”_

Anderson nodded. “You see it, Doctor?”

“I do.” I turned back to my bondmate. “Think about it, Shepard. Who built the Citadel?”

Enlightenment suddenly spread across his face. “The _Reapers_. The Citadel is the biggest damn Reaper artifact in the galaxy.”

“Yes. In every cycle, galactic civilization establishes itself with its capital on the Citadel. That makes it easy for the Reapers to decapitate galactic government as soon as they arrive. The Protheans disabled the Citadel mass relay, and we fought _Sovereign_ to prevent it from reactivating that trap in person. But what if there’s _another_ trap built into the Citadel, something more subtle?”

“Indoctrination,” he agreed. “Not enough to turn everyone on the Citadel into mindless puppets. That would be too easy for everyone to notice, long before the Reapers launched their attack. But what if it’s just enough to manipulate the thoughts of anyone who stays on the Citadel for any length of time? It lulls them into a false sense of security. They don’t take any evidence of the Reapers seriously, until it’s too late.”

“The Reapers are powerful, but they can’t be _all_ -powerful. They must leave evidence behind in each cycle. Certainly we’ve discovered plenty of clues, ever since we’ve been motivated to look. Perhaps the Reapers designed the Citadel to help cover up any traces that they miss.”

Anderson made a gesture of cautious restraint. “I don’t have any solid evidence. It’s not the kind of thing you can run experiments to prove. Still, I find it hard to accept that three sane, hard-headed people like that would just rationalize away overwhelming evidence. Not if they weren’t being manipulated.”

The Prime Minister broke in, his voice very gentle. “Never underestimate the capacity for even very rational people to delude themselves.”

“Sure. But look at us, here in this room. Of all of us, Shepard and Dr. T’Soni have probably spent the least time on the Citadel, and they’ve fought to prove the Reaper hypothesis all along. I’ve spent by far the _most_ time there, including hundreds of long days spent in the Council chambers themselves. And lately I haven’t been able to trust my own instincts on this.” Anderson looked down, leaning hard on his elbows on the tabletop, looking dejected. “Sometimes, in the middle of the night, after I’ve been fighting the rest of the Council tooth and nail all day . . . I start to have doubts. I’ve caught myself wondering if we made a mistake about _Sovereign_. Wondering if the Reapers are just a bad dream, something that will fade away in the light of day.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Shepard. “You, of all people.”

Anderson looked up at his protégé, his surrogate son. “I don’t want to believe it either. But the longer I stay there, the more convinced I am that there’s something _wrong_ about that place. We can’t put any faith in the Citadel. We have to place our trust closer to home.”

I saw Shepard’s chin lift, as if he heard distant trumpets.

“I agree,” said Shastri. “We must rely upon ourselves for the time being. Perhaps when the Reapers actually appear, even the Council will no longer be able to remain in denial.”

“We can hope,” said Anderson. “In the meantime, Your Excellency, I think there’s something I have to do.”

The Prime Minister nodded sadly. “I would never ask it of you, David.”

“I know. _Duty is heavier than a mountain_ _.”_ Anderson reached into a pocket of his jacket, produced a paper envelope, and handed it down to the Prime Minister. “Here’s my resignation from the Citadel Council. Effective immediately.”

“Reluctantly, David, I accept.” Shastri took the envelope and laid it unopened on the table in front of him. “Paul, I believe there is an opening on the Rear Admirals list. Would you see to it?”

“Right away,” rumbled the Minister of Defense.

I glanced at Shepard. He still stared at Anderson, and I saw a hint of tears in his eyes.

“Sir. It’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, son.” Suddenly Anderson _smiled_ , a warm and genuine expression that lit up his face. Already he seemed to have lifted a heavy weight from his shoulders. “Don’t grieve. I understand why you argued for humanity to take a seat on the Council. Why you stood up to them, and _dared_ them to turn us down after all we had done. I understand why you recommended me for that chair. But if the war comes that we all expect, that’s not where I’m going to be most useful. Let Udina have it. He’s an attack dog, and his ambitions make him easy for the Alliance to control. I belong back in uniform, standing on the wall to keep the darkness at bay.”

Shepard half-rose from his chair, reached across the table to grip Anderson’s hand strongly for a moment.

“That brings us to _you_ _,_ Mr. Shepard,” said the Prime Minister once everyone was seated once more.

“I want you back in that uniform too,” said McKenna. “The Alliance _needs_ you back in that uniform, now more than ever.”

“No,” said Shepard.

McKenna’s eyebrows leaped. “No?”

Shepard folded his arms and sat impassively.

“Damn it, Shepard, this isn’t a time for grandstanding. You _owe_ the Alliance your service.”

Anderson closed his eyes and shook his head, as if in pain.

“With all due respect, sir, at this point I do not owe the Alliance a damned thing.”

McKenna turned an interesting shade of deep red.

“I served the Alliance loyally and with distinction for eleven years,” Shepard continued, his voice absolutely calm and implacable. “I was _killed_ in the line of duty. At that point the Alliance owed _me_ , sir. How did the Alliance discharge its debt?”

Slowly, he looked around the table. Only Shastri and Hackett could hold his gaze for very long.

“The Alliance did not search for me. The Alliance did not recover my remains, or arrange for my revival. After my death, the Alliance did little or nothing to carry on my work, to fight to prepare the galaxy for the Reapers. The Alliance showed no loyalty to _me_ _.”_

He reached out and laid a hand on my forearm.

“Someone else did all those things. She has been with me all along, almost from the very beginning. She has stayed in the fight, despite suffering and miserable tragedy. She has been willing to take risks, and she has never given up. I have the honor to call her my wife. Admirals. Ministers. _This_ is what loyalty looks like. What argument could you possibly advance to cause me to turn my back on her?”

Goddess. Four centuries have passed . . . and I would still do almost anything to hear him say those words again.

The humans all watched us in silence, but it was the Prime Minister’s eyes that caught my attention. They seemed dark and deep and very wise, and they held my gaze with mute appeal.

“Shepard,” I whispered. “I think they’re right.”

He stared at me.

“You and _Normandy_ could stay with me. We could continue our work together . . . but it wouldn’t be the right move. Not as things stand.”

“You think I should go back to the Alliance.”

“Yes. Think about it. _Finally_ one of the great powers has decided to take the Reaper threat seriously. They’re willing to take decisive action to prepare. But all that will go to waste if the Alliance is forced to fight a war with the batarians. We can’t afford that. Not with the Reapers at the galaxy’s edge.”

He looked thoughtful.

“But if you went home to Earth . . . if the Alliance made a great show of taking you into custody, putting you _under investigation_ _. . .”_

“Yes,” said the Prime Minister. “We could draw out the proceedings as long as necessary. The batarians would stand down for a time. We could protect you, and you could lend us your expertise as we try to prepare for what is coming.”

“We probably have about six months,” I observed. “That’s how long it will take the Reapers to reach the primary mass relays closest to Bahak. The Kite’s Nest cluster will likely be the first to fall.”

“Khar’Shan,” growled Shepard.

Shastri nodded. “We will use every available means to warn the batarians, of course. I do not expect it to do much good. After the Reapers finally arrive, we will all have much larger issues to deal with.”

“At which point you’ll be back in command, with a ship of your own,” said Anderson. “That’s where _you_ belong, son.”

Shepard sat in silence for a long time, considering what we had said. He turned and watched me, as if trying to burn my image into his memory.

“I’ll want _Normandy_ ,” he said at last.

“Bring her in with you, and we’ll take good care of her,” said Hackett. “We might even make a few improvements while she’s in the yards.”

“My crew. No charges. Amnesty for any time they spent with Cerberus. They go free if they don’t want to return to the Alliance.”

“Done,” said the Prime Minister.

“The conditions of my . . . _detention?_ _”_

“As comfortable and honorable as we can make them,” said Hackett. “We can even arrange for visitors, so long as they exercise discretion.”

I gave the Admiral an innocent stare. “I can be _very_ discreet when I want to be.”

“I can imagine,” he said with a gleam in his eye.

Shepard sighed. “Liara. Are you sure about this?”

“No,” I admitted. “What I really want is for us to go somewhere pleasant and forget about the rest of the galaxy for a while. Thirty or forty years ought to be enough.”

“It doesn’t look as if that’s going to happen.”

“No. It’s not.”

He hesitated for one last moment. Then he turned to the Prime Minister. “Your Excellency, I accept.”

“One more thing,” I interjected.

Shastri bowed his head in my direction.

“Prime Minister, I will hold the Alliance and _you personally_ responsible for Shepard’s safety and well-being. I have already lost him once. I have no intention of losing him again. I think you’re aware that I have a great deal more influence now than I did three years ago. I _will_ use that influence if I must.”

“I understand you very well, Dr. T’Soni. Have no fear. Your husband is in no danger on Earth. We need him . . . and we acknowledge our debt to him, in private as I hope we will one day do in public.”

I nodded in acceptance.

“Then it’s done,” said McKenna, satisfied. “May God have mercy on us all.”

“Yes,” said Shastri. “For it is certain that the Reapers will have none.”


End file.
